I'll Stand By You
by formerAnnie
Summary: With secrets of the nation and only a single allegiance, a woman must choose between following her heart and defying a king in the struggle between good and evil. One wrong move could mean the end of freedom in Alagaesia - one right could tear her apart.
1. A Simple Life

Hello and welcome all to my seventh story, "I'll Stand By You"! Before we start yet another writing adventure, let me give you a few references so you won't be confused: sections that are _italicized_ are flashbacks and dreams and **bold** parts are characters talking with their minds. The title of this fanfic was inspired by the song "I'll Stand By You" by The Pretenders. Sadly, I don't know what my updating schedule will be after next month when I start college, but, anyway, I hope you enjoy!

A Simple Life

_A six-year-old girl with shoulder-length dark hair ran through the great halls of her father's gigantic home with tears streaming down her face. This small child in a fine dress and soft shoes wasn't normally the type to cry, since emotion was a bad thing…at least, that's what she gathered from her father's ranting whenever she did actually shed a tear in his presence. Her hard-hearted sire had made sure to drill that into her. She was too young to understand why he didn't want her to cry or laugh or sing or play (at least when he was looking); she just knew not to do when he was around._

_Her mother, on the other hand, defied her father in that regard. She encouraged the little one to run in the garden and sneak out with the other children in the town to race and play games in the street. She frequently had to coax her daughter to stop bottling up her feelings around her. It almost came naturally now – hiding what she felt. It scared her to death, and her mother saw it. She hated watching her child suffer even a little and she hated not being able to do anything about it even more. Her husband was a powerful man, even compared to her._

_Wordlessly, the girl burst into the large bedroom without knocking. Within was a tall, beautiful woman with angled but soft features, full black hair down her waist, and shining green eyes. There were rumors that she had royal blood running through her veins, for she had the poise, the loveliness, and the grace of a queen. This lady suddenly looked from painting a portrait of the sunset on her balcony to catch the sobbing child in her arms, giving the comforting touch only capable of a mother._

"_What's wrong, darling? Please tell me."_

_The girl continued to cry, though with somewhat less violence. How could she say that her greedy father had just discovered something that would separate her from the other children forever, both figuratively and literally? Now that it had started, no one would understand her. The children would be too frightened to risk playing with their friend and her father would be stricter than ever in allowing her outside. _

_Hesitantly, scared of herself even, she lifted her hand, stuttering,_

"_Ri..._ _Rïsa."_

_Slowly, the paintbrush sitting on a bench nearby began a wobbly ascent until it was at eye level with the queenly woman._

_After staring at the occurrence with speechless shock, whether from the magic itself or the timing of it, she gently took the brush out of the air and kissed her daughter's forehead. A strange fire seemed to appear in her eyes._

"_I'll protect you."_

* * *

><p>The fifteen-year-old walking contentedly by himself was quite an eye catcher. He was about average height with intense dark brown eyes and somewhat unruly brown hair. Eragon, the son of Selena and an unknown father, the nephew of Garrow the farmer, and a farmer himself, stepped onto the road in and out of Carvahall, the nearest town, from the path that led to his home, where he lived with his uncle and cousin Roran. Instead of following the road to the village, the boy walked only a quarter of a mile down the drive before following another path on the other side.<p>

The property he had just entered was perhaps one square mile in size and was the second farthest of the outlying homes from Carvahall. Almost clear at the other end of the place was a small, three room cabin with an adjacent stable that slept a gorgeous white mare. It happened to belong to a woman name Tricia Ramonasdaughter, who had lived there by herself since she had arrived as a mysterious refugee from unknown parts nearly two years previously.

Knowing that the lady wouldn't be at the house, but rather a short walk over a small hill where her mansion-sized chicken house stood, Eragon made the little trip to where Tricia's hens and roosters were foraging in the sparse treeline. He ended up staying in the shadow of the henhouse, however, when, instead of holding one of her birds or throwing dried corn or singing to them as she patched a dress, the owner was facing off with a shepherd who lived several miles closer to Carvahall. Even Eragon wondered what the man was doing there until a distinct 'baaing' emerged from the patch of trees, followed by the appearance of several woolly sheep

"This is my property! Your sheep eat what they like and trample what's left. My chickens are shriveling before my eyes and I can't afford to sustain them with grain. Get off my land! Or do I have to take this up with Horst? Or, better yet, Gertrude? I bet she could concoct a tea that would have you pursing your lips for a month straight. Do you really want to raise the whole town over this? We both know who would win, Silas."

Grumbling profanities, the disagreeable sheepherder slowly retreated, coaxing his animals along with the occasional tap of his staff. The landowner didn't relax until the trespasser was long out of sight; soon, she was back to stroking the neck of her favorite chicken and only non-production bird, a tiny bantam hen with tan, gray, and white speckles.

The rest of the thirty birds, while all considered pets and companions, were primarily for eggs to sell in town. It was a modest income at best, but between that, her self-supporting garden, and the mysterious money she had arrived with in the first place, she was able to live in minimal but sufficient comfort. While stories were scattered around about her origins, she was on good terms with most townsfolk and was good friends with the blacksmith Horst and his family, the healer Gertrude, and Eragon's own family.

Finally comfortable enough, the young man casually walked away from hiding and approached the woman. As usual, without even looking, she sensed his presence and spoke with a slightly gravelly voice even as she turned.

"Hello, Eragon."

Tricia was no spring chicken. Rather, she was a woman well over forty with mid-back-length wavy black hair, bright green eyes, sharp features, a thin waist, and a fair share creases on her face; but, just as with many older women, there was a certain wisdom and kindness about her that attracted Eragon to befriend the strange settler. She had a well-full of knowledge about plants, healing, animals, and farm work…but that was only the surface. Occasionally, the boy would catch her slipping words about missing noblewomen, wars, and great epic romances, but he never got past that. In some ways, she was just as bad as Brom, the town storyteller.

"What did Silas want?" the young man queried, pretending to not have heard Tricia's final rant.

"That _idiot_. I spent months trying to tell him that, if he didn't section his property with fences and rotate his stock's grazing, he wouldn't have any grass left besides the hay he stocked up for winter. Now, he thinks that he can just move those filthy animals wherever he wants. _Fool_." As always, when she didn't get enough sleep, she could rant till the sun was down and gone. Her sparkling eyes finally focused on Eragon with a certain restlessness in them. She was certainly a strange one. Setting Pearl the hen down on the ground to recommence its scrounging, Tricia straightened her simple soft yellow dress and thick black shawl. "My apologies. How can I help you, my lad?"

The boy smiled and shook his head.

"I'm going hunting in Spine sometime within the next week or so, depending on how the crops are doing. If I by chance caught something extra…"

"Eragon," Tricia interrupted, as she always did when he offered to do some hunting for her, "in these hard times, nothing is extra, only necessary. You know very well that I can take care of myself without some upstart farm boy starting a charity drive for me." Proud as ever. Strangely, it was true. When Tricia first arrived in Carvahall, he had seen her slipping into the Spine, only to come out less than a day later dragging a prize-worthy buck, dress and all. "But, I appreciate the thought, Eragon. You have a kind heart that will take you far. Now, I suppose you're going to see that ol' Brom's storytelling again, are you?"

"Yes, actually. But I also needed to pick up a few things for my hunting trip."

"Would you mind escorting an old hag? I need to acquire a few supplies myself. And I need to tell Gertrude that her supposedly infallible tea is not helping me sleep a wink."

"Certainly; however, you're not an old hag, Tricia. Maybe you should visit Brom as well."

She scoffed.

"The day I start socializing with that hermit is the day I flirt with an Urgal."

Eragon simply shook his head before agreeing to wait for Tricia to fetch her sack, staff, and other necessities for the trip. The fact was: she and Brom, other than both being practically hermits, were more similar than two of those big dumb red chickens she owned. He never quite understood why she refused to interact much with the old man and, probably, neither did she.

* * *

><p>"Brom, please tell your story about the lost princess," a wide-eyed boy of twelve begged as a group of the villagers sat around the town center on benches and leaned against buildings in the firelight as men smoked their pipes, women darned socks, and children sat on a giant grass mat provided by one of the town matrons, all bundled up for another bone-chilling tale.<p>

As the old, hawk-nosed man was collecting his thoughts, settling himself in a half-sitting position against the town well, his gaze caught sight of two newcomers to the gathering: Gertrude the town healer and Tricia the local egg-seller coming from a probably in-depth conversation about herbs and their healing properties, or perhaps simply chatting about the idiocy of men in general. Needless to say, the two women slunk onto the scene to stand on Brom's left against an empty piece of wall for a final story.

Still staring at the strange mistress of chickens, the former Dragon Rider's voice finally broke through the quiet chattering.

"The tale of the lost princess is an incredibly conflicted one. In fact, the story only gained its title with 'princess' because no one really knew who the poor damsel was; but, regardless, it is worth repeated telling. The first time I heard of it was from a trader from Teirm.

"Years ago – whether it be fifteen or fifty, I don't know – a lovely girl was born to an elegant lady of unknown origins and a cruel man with an iron fist. The child spent her first years under the strict ruling of her father and the quiet love of her mother, and, soon, she developed the ability to control magic. But then her mother mysteriously died and she was left at the mercy of the man of the household, knowing only the education of a lady and a warrior and the affectionate touch of punishment when she did not do well enough. Despite her hardship and her unique gifts as a magic-user, this lady quickly became an inspiration to all who knew her and hated her father.

"Unfortunately, though her mother was gone, the father lived on, driving her to the brink of self-destruction until she finally ran away from home and disappeared from the eyes and ears of all the world. Now, the townspeople continue to wait for her return, hoping that she will come with fiery wrath on her heels and magic on her side to kill her father and free them from tyranny."

While the adults had continued their respective smoking and darning, having heard this story a few times before, the young ones were captivated and, as always, disappointed by the short tale and the sudden ending. It was like having the most delicious piece of candy or the brightest of trinkets shown to you before having it snatched away before you could tell the flavor or details. They wanted to know where the sad maiden was and if she would ever suddenly appear somewhere to shower her anger upon the unknown dad.

"But, Brom, who was she? Was she just a nobleman's daughter or even the daughter of Galbatorix?" Several adults sucked air in at that. The assumption was their fault, of course. They sometimes remembered the fairytale when their offspring refused to go to bed and threatened that the raging father of the 'princess' would fall upon them within the hour to snatch them away in an insane fever of searching for his runaway child if they weren't hidden in bed. "Where will she come back?"

Suddenly troubled with his own curiosity and other things he would not mention even to himself, the bard sighed.

"As I said, it is but a legend – a tale that may or may not be true. But I doubt that you have to worry about her coming back too soon…as long as you obey your parents when they tell you to go to bed."

A few matrons chuckled at that and Tricia, knowing that the story was over, walked by the standing Eragon, whacked him over the head as a signal to move out, and began to meander away; however, both departing people were halted by an extra query from a small girl of about seven.

"Sir…isn't there more?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, you say that she had a tragic life and is out for revenge against her evil father and everything…but isn't there more to it? What was she really like when she wasn't fuming about that over-controlling troll? Did she have an epic romance or grand getaway like some of the other people in your stories? Isn't there more to it?"

During the spare moment of silence, Brom stared at Eragon and Ramonasdaughter, a distinct haunting in the back of his mind.

"There is always more."

* * *

><p>Brooding over the questions of the previous night, Brom the storyteller, as he had been known for over a decade, slowly hiked along the path towards the chicken farmer's cabin. Normally, he didn't involve himself with the peculiar dark lady (though he wasn't one to talk, as he was considered rather odd himself), but last night's telling had seemed to spark something recognizable in Tricia's eyes – just a slight flicker of the same haunted look that Brom knew he frequently sported. It was high time he found out why he wasn't the only one seeking refuge in the small northern village.<p>

The bard was what someone would normally expect in a teller of tales: he was old, had shaggy silver hair, he was shifty, mysterious, and somewhat wiry, though he had been through more than any common yapper ever could. And he was experienced in life; he knew when something was…off.

Of course, Brom knocked on the old wooden door that belonged to the little stone house, but, when there was no answer, he admitted himself, never being one for great ceremony. The room he had entered was fairly small, but comfortable and spacious enough to fit several home-making items. These included a little two-chaired table, a large crackling hearth with a boiling kettle and pot, a pile of soft furs that served as a couch near the fireplace, and a shelf on the far side of the room next to the hearth with several ancient books, weapons, carvings, stones, and other random articles – all within a not-too-cramped distance from each other. Also, to his left, was a small door in the floor probably leading to a small cellar.

There were additionally two adjacent rooms. On the far left side corner of the main area was an apparent washroom with a tub, water pump, rack for a few dishes, washboard, laundry line, and various scented oils and soaps in a basket.

The other attachment on the other end of the house was a bedroom of sorts, though the bare rawhide cot was obviously rarely used in comparison to the fireside couch. Hanging from a makeshift rack on one side of the room was an array of drying plants and herbs – things you would expect in the home of a witch – but a witch's house had a different…feel. These findings were apparently for medical and culinary usage. There was also a bowl on a short stool in the middle of the room beside the cot, filled with water, and, on top of the cot, a leather bag probably from the travel the night previously.

Opposite from the plants was an open closet of sorts with several ratty dresses and one for nice occasions, along with a few things uncommon to a lady's wardrobe: there were a pair of rawhide knee-high traveling boots, two pairs of slim black trousers, a few tunics, a small assortment of fine-looking feminine shirts, and several vests of different styles. Clearly, Brom wasn't the only one keeping secrets.

At the scuffing of a lady's clog on the rug-covered floor, the man wheeled around to find Tricia standing behind him with a load of firewood in her arms.

"I see you already gave yourself a tour, Brom, so I doubt that I need to offer one; although, I don't expect that you looked for the outhouse – it's out back. Are you interested in supper? It's rabbit stew…and I found a few herbs that should make it taste like it's from the king's table."

All this was said with careless abandonment, as though a man who had barely talked to her for the past two years hadn't just trespassed on her land and broken into her house. Brom decided to play along with it, though, and casually took a seat at the single table as Tricia dumped her logs into a box near the stone fireplace.

"Eragon, Horst, Gertrude, and quite a few others seem to trust you, so I won't put too much weight on what I have just seen. So…I trust you won't mind my asking… Who are you and where did you come from? Is your real name even 'Tricia Ramonasdaughter'?"

The woman smirked.

"I got away with practically two years of limited-to-no questioning of what I am and why I'm here. I suppose I avoided you because I somehow knew that you were smart enough to guess that I'm not just another farm girl."

"Actually, quite a few rumors spread that you were a farmer's daughter who ran away from home to avoid a forced marriage or a noblewoman facing execution or a wanted criminal in hiding. None of those are true, are they?"

Obviously, he just asked the question to prod a general explanation. Brom was used to getting answers and solving mysteries.

For a moment, Tricia ignored him, serving up two bowls of delicious-smelling, steaming soup and sitting across from him with elbows on the table, fingers interlocked, and chin rested against her hands.

"You were right last night. There is always more. I think you and I have something in common, Brom. We are both hiding from a monster that can see through anything. And it's only a matter of time before its eyes pierce as far as this little town. As of two days ago, I have decided that I am leaving before the owners of those eyes find me and smoke me out."

"Who are the owners of the eyes of your seekers?"

Impressively, the middle-aged woman's eyes didn't falter in meeting the soul-seeing eyes of Brom.

"They belong to no one and everyone. I have not only been hiding, but waiting. The reason I have to leave now isn't the reason I wanted to leave, but it's as good a time as any; I have a friend in Surda who needs my help. I want you to take care of everything after I leave. Give at least some of the chickens to Gertrude (especially Pearl) and, if you have to, just let that cranky old shepherd have the property. I would love to see him ruin yet another good piece of land."

"Why leave this to me, Tricia? Despite living near the same village, you hardly know me, my origins, or my intentions."

"Other than the fact that you happened to break into my house just as I was trying to figure out what to do with the place? Well, honestly…you have a sincere face. You…understand more than most of these villagers can fathom. I really don't know why – I just suddenly feel as though I can trust you."

They ate in silence, but Brom had many questions to ask about the water-filled bowl, the books, the weapons, and the clothes.

Before insisting that he sleep on the fur couch for the night, Tricia reached under the fabric and pulled out a narrow sort of broadsword with a black scabbard. Her only excuse for it before retreating into the bedroom was that is was just for protection. He had a hard time believing that.

The night was mostly uneventful…except that he suspiciously peeked into the room an hour after she retired only to find her in a white nightgown, sitting on the edge of her then fur-covered cot, staring into the water-filled bowl with a look of pure frustration.

Sadly, she would soon be gone, it was unlikely that he would ever see her again, and all of his questions would have to go unanswered. Still, it was an interesting miniature adventure while it lasted.

Well, I hope you enjoyed this first part. I have already pretty much finished the next chapter, so, hopefully, I can update pretty soon.


	2. Lady Who

Thank you Earthcat123 for your review!

For my own selfish reasons, just to warn you, I'm going to skip quite a bit of time between Arya's capture and Eragon's adventures in and after Dras-Leona. Don't worry, it won't always be like that; I just didn't want to have half a book worth of filler that (hopefully) everyone generally knows. Yup, being lazy.

Lady Who

Arya, the elven ambassador, glanced yet again at the pouch in her lap as she easily rode with one hand on it and the other on the reigns of her beautiful white steed. For twenty years she had conveyed the dragon egg stolen from Galbatorix between Ellesmera and the Varden in hopes of finding a Dragon Rider who could tip the balance of power to defeat the evil, self-proclaimed king. She had yet to succeed, but, even as she and her two male escorts traveled through the misty darkness, the lady felt confident that her search would somehow soon come to an end. Still, after two decades of traveling with the beautiful blue stone, she would loathe to be parted with it.

The daughter of Queen Islanzadi was a lovely woman by even elven standards. She had full, long raven-black hair, slanted vivid green eyes, angular features, relatively tan, soft skin, small feet and slender hands, and a slim figure, though she was taller and stronger than most men. Her temper could be frightening to even the most stalwart of warriors and she rarely let anyone get close to her, but she was a lover of knowledge, nature, and adventure. Despite her royal standing, she had always been drawn to danger – that was why she insisted on taking on the Yawe.

One of her helpers smoothly approached her, breaking her out of her thoughts and whispering,

"Arya, there is something foul in the air. Perhaps a spear would be better suited in front of you for a while…just as a precaution."

Nodding and cursing herself for becoming so distracted, the woman replied with an affirmative and the men switched so that her spear-bearing follower led the quick-paced procession.

Suddenly, the wind changed direction, bring with it the filthy stench of nearby Urgals, along with something even fouler. Knowing the dreaded smell, Arya's horse snorted and tossed its head with nervous jerks. Looking around for the owners of the stench, the emissary was swift in leading a galloping race away from the danger; but she didn't get far.

Following a screamed word in the ancient language, a red bolt of fire shot at and struck the loyal horse, sending it plunging chest-first to the ground with a high-pitched squeal and throwing Arya from the saddle, though she still managed to hold onto the pouch with the egg.

Landing lightly on the ground and looking back for her companions, the elf screamed in rage and sorrow upon seeing both heroes dead in pools of their own blood some distance behind her. Her emotions initially urged her to plunge into battle and gain her revenge, but, upon seeing the red-haired Shade leading the Urgals, logic won over. She had to protect the egg at all costs.

For several minutes, she bounded through the thick forest, dodging trees and leaping over dead logs. Just as she thought that she had perhaps lost her pursuers, however, everything around her exploded with flames. She ran to the right for a clear path, but that way was blocked with molten-hot fire, along with every other. Panting slightly with growing worry, as the fire slowly herded her backwards, she turned again, only to be confronted with a large band of hulking Urgals.

"Arya!" a woman's voice shouted, distracting both the runner and the hunters. Through the scorching smoke, the lady could just make out a dark-haired, horse-riding figure in a deep green cloak, holding a bared sword at ready and staring intensely at the elf. Of course, Arya's first inclination was to leap onto the strange fair lady's horse and escape her fate, but then she noticed the other girl's eyes in the burning light. There was something in those dark, shadowy eyes that loudly proclaimed a treachery and danger even more frightening than facing a hundred Urgals. "Arya, come!"

"Never, witch!" the proud warrior shouted, turning back to the Urgals.

Managing to kill three of them within seconds, Arya charged in a retreat to hopefully find a way through the flames, hoping desperately that the maker of the fires wasn't around the next corner.

The Urgals were falling behind as she approached a slightly rocky area with a few boulders and mounds when her run was stopped and her hope of escape crushed. A Shade with crimson hair and maroon eyes dropped down from the nearby piece of granite and the Urgals spread into a circle, trapping her. Now, there was only one way to save the egg.

On a nearby hill, the mysterious rider once again appeared, gazing sadly down at the captive with sheer disappointment; however, oddly, she seemed to almost read Arya's mind and nodded, looking down the covered egg.

Even as the Shade approached her with a raised hand and opened his mouth to order the creatures to seize her, Arya stood tall, staring at her enemies with disdain, removed the egg from its hiding place, and held it high, magic words silently flying from her mouth.

"Garjzla!" the Shade shouted, but it was too late.

By the time the fireball knocked Arya unconscious, the egg was already gone in a flash of sapphire light.

* * *

><p>Seeing that the egg was gone, Durza remembered that the elf had been looking at something distant before sending the prize to its unknown destination and slowly turned his head toward the spot.<p>

Sure enough, there was something there. About fifty feet off on a slight rise was a horse-riding, cloaked woman with wild black hair and shadowy eyes. The identity of the person instantly hit him. Finally, she had come out of hiding…if it really was her – witch or an assassin, he couldn't tell. A magic-user, a warrior, a potentially great ally, and a dangerous enemy. The king would be pleased with such a prize.

Frowning down at him, the distant figure shook her head and turned to go. Suddenly remembering himself, Durza shot a ball of fire after her; but the attack simply dispersed before reaching its target and the lady galloped off, leaving the Shade with a half-dead elf and no blue stone. Still gazing after the new query, he screamed in frustration. Two failures in one night would bring on terrible punishment, more endless rants from Galbatorix, and, now, deep investigation after this strange sorceress.

* * *

><p><em>Laying in bed in Horst's large house days after the attack, drowning in his sorrow over Garrow's death, Eragon tried to ignore Saphira's urgings to run away from Carvahall, not only to avoid discovery, but to protect the village from further attacks.<em>

_Finally giving in and doing his best to ignore the pain screaming through his body from the scrapes on his legs from Saphira's scales and all of the other soreness and injuries, the boy crawled out of bed and crept out of the house, only to stop when he heard Horst and his wife Elain. Their discussing of Eragon's honesty about the attack and the mystery of Saphira's tracks in the snow where she took off and landed on the road in an effort to bear the old man to safety fully convinced him._

_As he slowly lost some of the stiffness in his body, the young Dragon Rider first went to Gedric's tannery, cringing at the vile smell of the tanning vats as he passed them to get to the storage shack and take three large ox hides. After hiding the leather in some branches in a patch of trees outside the town, he next went sneaking into Sloan's butchery, figuring that, if he was going to steal, it might as well be from the man who had given him nothing but trouble over the years. _

_With as much meat stuffed into his shirt as possible and feeling terribly guilty for having to steal all these things and sneak away like some common criminal, Eragon went back to the patch of trees, relieved at not being followed or found. He reached for the hidden hides – but they were gone._

"_Going somewhere?" Brom asked from behind him. The old man was just standing there in traveling clothes, with a short sword in his belt, holding the skins in his hands._

_Still wondering how the storyteller had appeared out of nowhere like that, Eragon snapped,_

"_Give them back."_

"_Why? So you can run off before Garrow is even buried?"_

_His voice matched the boy's tense sharpness._

"_It's none of your business! Why did you follow me?"_

"_I didn't. I've been waiting for you here. Now where are you going?"_

"_Nowhere." This time, he grabbed for the skins and met no resistance._

"_I hope you have enough meat to feed your dragon."_

That was how it had all started, with a shocking revelation of Brom's extensive knowledge. Since then, they had trained with magic, archery, dragon-riding, and sword-righting and traveled through Therinsford, Yazuac, and Daret. Then, they discovered flesh-eating Seithr oil from the Ra'zac they were tracking and headed for Teirm in order to find which port it was from and where it was shipped to with the help of an old friend of Brom's, Jeod; then they could find the Ra'zac and gain revenge for Garrow's murder. Teirm was a rather interesting stop.

There was an herbalist named Angela who was trying to prove that toads didn't exist and couldn't seem to give a straight answer; there was Jeod, who helped the travelers search a trove of old records to find the logs of Seithr shipments; he learned to read and write; and, along with several other occurrences, Eragon had his fortune told by Angela: he would have a long life, many choices ahead of him, many battles fought around him, many possible fates with only one chance of happiness, a doom of forever leaving Alagaesia, the only land he had ever known, an epic romance with one of noble birth, family betrayal, and a strange, dark ally. To top it all off, a Werecat also babbled off a fortune – something to do with a Menoa tree and the Vault of Souls.

On the day that he had wandered into Angela's shop and had his fortune told, Eragon had come across an announcement board of sorts at an intersection of a few streets. Thankfully, neither his nor Brom's picture was on it, but one particular 'wanted' sign stood out. It wasn't a very detailed drawing – just a shadowy image of a cloaked lady with billowing dark hair – but there was half a fortune offered for her with the claim that she was a dangerous sorceress with important information needed by the Empire.

* * *

><p>Much time had passed since Eragon had lost his uncle and his home, and now they were finally perhaps near their goal in Dras-Leona. They spent practically a whole night in the nasty inn they were staying at, drinking themselves practically to death. During this luxury, Eragon thought he saw a person in the back corner staring at him, but he was too far gone by then to notice.<p>

Morning came with a stiff headache and a fuzzy tongue. Brom taught him the cure of hot tea, ice water, and brandy and they later separated for a relatively uneventful day, other than discovering the Seithr oil was probably being transported to Helgrind, a demonic-looking black tower outside of the city that was the center of many of the townspeople's worship.

The next morning, the young man awoke feeling much more refreshed and finding a charcoal note on the room wall from Brom, telling him to explore, enjoy himself, and stay unnoticed.

Following a somewhat boring and infuriating day of seeing houses squeezed together, the poverty, and even a slave auction, all in the shadow of the spikey black cathedral in the middle of the city, the Dragon Rider eventually found himself on the very steps of the horrifying church. Its twisted spires, frightening statues, gargoyles, columns, and stained glass windows towered over him, causing a pit to form in his stomach, but somehow, he was urged onward.

On the inlaid iron door was an inscription in the ancient language, which, as far as he could tell, said:

'May thee who enter here understand thine impermanence and forget thine attachments to that which is beloved.'

Scary, but thought-provoking. The entire structure sent chills down the boy's spine with its immense, hollow…he didn't know how to describe it – like a predator crouching and waiting for its next victim.

Finding that the huge door smoothly opened and seeing no one inside, Eragon walked between the granite pews, feeling rather ant-like in the presence of the towering walls and stained glass windows portraying scenes of anger, hate, and sorrow as the filtered light gave his skin an apparent blue tone. Returning the lifeless stares of the accusatory statues, he finally reached the altar, an unadorned slab of stone, behind which was a grand, solemn-looking organ that pierced through the ceiling toward the sky so that it was exposed to the wind and only played when a gale blew through the depressing city.

Right then and there, he knelt on the hard floor, not to pray to the cathedral or any cause surrounding it, but to pay homage to the building itself and all the lives and the sorrow it had seen and caused. This place stood for everything he wanted to destroy as a Dragon Rider: inhumane slavery, needless suffering, pointless anguish, and useless deaths. Because of what this place stood for, people sacrificed everything good in their lives for an idea that shouldn't have ever been raised to such an honored level. In his eyes, any religion or government or sect of any kind that supported any sort of cruelty wasn't worthy of any support or celebration and only deserved eradication.

As he stood and turned to go, Eragon was halted before he could even think about moving towards the door. Standing right in the doorway were the two Ra'zac he been hunting for weeks on end. The smaller one hissed upon being noticed while it brandished its deadly sword.

Rage welled up and his hunger for revenge overwhelmed the young warrior enough to snatch his bow up and release three arrows in quick succession, none of which found their mark as the creatures simply dodged into the pews. He stopped himself from reaching for another arrow upon seeing a troop of soldiers file in and begin to line the sides of the cathedral, realizing that, if they had found him, then Brom was also in danger. But perhaps just one more arrow before he looked for an escape…

"Stupid boy! Come on!" a voice growled from behind him.

Eragon didn't hesitate to follow the cloaked woman through a vestibule beside the altar in an apparent escape route. With the stranger in the lead, they raced down the hallways of the priory, haunted by the clicking feet of pursuing Ra'zac, until they reached a closed door. Beating down the blockage and making their way into the depths of the creepy place, the runners startled several residents and provoked the alarm bell to ring before finally stumbling into a brick-walled garden with no exit.

With no other choice but to use magic to break the wall and potentially kill himself in the process, Eragon backed up and made a running start at the wall. Only his fingertips cleared it, unfortunately, and it was only the presence of the prowling Ra'zac that encouraged him to not try again, but rather to pull himself up, ignoring the protests of his shoulders. He looked down at the lady to see if she needed help, but the woman, whom he recognized as the one from the notice board in Teirm, inhumanly just leapt over the block as if it was nothing.

Once on the other side, they put on another burst of speed until they reached a marketplace a good mile away and rolled under a parked wagon to rest. Honestly, he was so far impressed with this mysterious helper. Not once during the entire race had she spoken or shown any signs of tiring. Now, however, with her hood fallen down, revealing a lovely, slightly tanned face with not-too-full lips, high cheekbones, dark and somewhat thick but well-shaped eyebrows, and short eyelashes, he could see her petite yet strong jaw dropped in a small pant.

But how did they find him? Was Brom all right?

"Thanks. I think we lost them," the boy breathed, finding himself confronted with piercing gray eyes that were like swirling thunderclouds. They honestly threw him off-guard a bit.

"Thanks to you," she sneered, flaunting a steady, calm voice and a strange flat accent, "the Empire surely has a far more detailed description of me. I certainly hope you're at least partially worth the trouble you've caused me."

"I could have gotten out of there just fine without you," he childishly defended, glaring at the girl who couldn't have been older than twenty.

"Pshaw! You would have spent ten minutes looking for that exit, and, by that time, you would have been dead, or worse, captured. Stupid boy."

"I do have a name, you know. What were you doing there, anyway?"

"What were _you_ doing there? That's the more fitting question, in my opinion. By the sound and look of you, you're a farm boy, but there's a little something extra…a certain…nobility. Strange…"

Her anger finally gave way to curiosity as Eragon's gratitude turned into suspicion. Why would this woman want to help him?

"Who are you?"

"I am simply a wanderer on a mission helping out another wanderer on a mission. I saw you and your friend a couple nights ago mentioning something about searching far and wide for some important article. Whatever it is, you won't find it in the cathedral. As far as I'm concerned, that place is only for victims and madmen. Now, don't you think we should be looking for your companion?"

After conferring with Saphira and agreeing to meet Brom at the inn, Eragon led his tagalong to their destination, where she agreed to meet them in the stables.

Eragon being Eragon, he failed to mention the woman to his mentor in their panic to pack and reach the stable, only to have the old man just notice the lady when she came around the corner as they were mounting, sitting tall on a flaming white, slightly familiar-looking horse with her enveloping hood back in its place.

"What's this?" Brom hastily asked.

"She helped me escape the Ra'zac."

For the moment, that was all he needed, since they had to make a quick getaway before the enemy succeeded in closing the gates. The guards certainly tried, but, thanks to Eragon holding gate open with magic, the trio managed to get outside the walls to a patch of trees where Saphira was hiding and waiting. This was when he looked at the newcomer; but, instead of fear and awe, the only things he saw in her face were shock and…not exactly fear, but definite caution.

"No time to dally," Brom snapped. "Go, ride her. And this time stay in the air, no matter what happens to me. I'll head south. Fly nearby; I don't car if Saphira's seen."

* * *

><p>As the boy and the dragon took off, the man looked at his new partner-in-crime. She had a slim and lady-ish, but strong, figure, was perhaps a little shorter than Eragon, and had a face that, despite its loveliness, had obviously seen some hard times, especially with those drilling eyes. He would have to keep a close eye on her until he was able to find out who she was and her purpose.<p>

"Can you ride well enough, my lady?" No matter what his thoughts were, he was somehow provoked to speak to the tagalong with some respect.

She seemed to be fuming at the questioning of her abilities, but his respect for her grew a little when, instead of ranting like a common housewife, she nodded curtly, saying with an all-too-familiar accent,

"I can ride as far as you will."

Jerking his head in affirmation, Brom took off, galloping down the road, away from Leona Lake and into rocky territory until a thunderstorm forced Saphira to land due to the wind. Brom didn't try to stem his wave of curses and, strangely, the woman didn't try to stop him either.

From there, they traveled on the ground through the wind and dirt whipping at their faces. Again, he noticed that the girl simply took it in stride.

Several hours of this dreary work passed until the winds finally died down considerably and the stars appeared in the sky, whereupon the group traveled away from the road and made camp in the shelter of two large boulders and several shaggy trees. Sadly, they couldn't build a fire due to the light being seen by the Ra'zac; so, upon digging out their rations of cold food, the runners turned their attention to the stranger, who again portrayed the experience of a traveler by her simple collection of jerky, a shriveled apple, and a dry chunk of bread rather than some attempt at extravagance. Thanks to Saphira's forthcoming nature, he already knew what had happened to Eragon in the cathedral.

"So, miss," Brom gruffly began, settling himself against one of the boulders as the younger adventurers stared at the girl, clearly in their own world of conversation, "now that we're not fleeing for our lives, for the moment… Who are you and why did you follow us?"

With her legs crossed as she leaned her head back against one of the trees and her hood down, revealing a stoic face and slightly smirking mouth, the girl didn't seem _quite_ as intimidating.

"I could give you an elaborate allusion of how I simply heard of a Dragon Rider and followed the trail of rumors, but I won't waste my energy talking; rather, I'll show you."

When the woman whispered a few ancient phrases, her appearance seemed to alter and her face became that of a kindly forty-year-old, green-eyed farm girl.

"Tricia!" Eragon exclaimed, shocked at seeing the woman who had disappeared months ago, just before he found Saphira's egg. "How did…? What…?"

She sniffed a laugh before muttering another phrase and reverting back to the dark, hardened beauty. Now, Brom recognized the clothes she was wearing. The rawhide boots, close-fitting black pants, a stiff, around-the-waist laced corset that was apparently more for support and protection than fashion and constriction, and a white linen shirt that widened at the sleeves and almost didn't reach the level of modesty in the plunging V-neck were all recognizable from Tricia's peculiar wardrobe. They just looked a little different when they were actually on a thin, shapely woman.

"This is my true form. The other is merely a magical illusion, as Brom well knows. You probably understand now why I avoided you for so long."

The former Rider grunted in dissatisfaction prior to speaking again.

"Apparently you know that we both are users of magic, but the question is: how long have you known? And who are you really? Are you perhaps a rogue elf?"

A dangerous glint showed in those frightening eyes. They weren't particularly large to make them stand out; they were just…there. Like a ghost, she moved her luxurious curls out of the way to reveal delicate _round_ ears.

"I am no elf, Brom. See, my ears are round, my shape is not that of a stick, and my eyes do not resemble that of a cat." But her poise and fine features seemed to hold more than the ordinary human. "I have known that you were different almost since I arrived in Carvahall, and for who I am… Just call me Tricia for now and know that I'm not your enemy. This magnificent dragon ready to oppose the forces of evil that Galbatorix has forced upon this land for so long is enough to hold my respect. Besides, being around you, I might actually find what I'm looking for."

"Speaking of who you are and everything," Eragon put in, "in Teirm, I found a wanted sign with you in your cloak pictured on it and claiming that you were a sorceress. How are we supposed to trust you? Why are you wanted? And I thought you were going to help a friend in Surda."

So the boy was actually learning something…other than dumbly asking about the friend in Surda, which had clearly been a lie.

"I am no sorceress, lad, so don't worry your little head about that. I'm a magic-user, though not of my own design - rather my destiny. And why wouldn't the Empire want a confident magician off the streets and into its clutches? Personally, I would rather live out my life in Carvahall without bothering with magic as long as I live, but it's not meant to be. You can trust me because we have a common enemy: Galbatorix." Eragon opened his mouth again, but Brom remained silent, knowing that Tricia was no longer in a mood for answering questions. "That's all I'll tell you for now. I'm sleeping; one of you can take the watch."

With Tricia out of the talking ring as she set her sword and bow aside and laid down, Eragon turned back to his teacher.

"How did they find us?"

"One of the palace servants warned me there were spies among them. Somehow word of me and my questions reached Tabor…and through him, the Ra'zac."

"We can't go back to Dras-Leona, can we?"

"Not for a few years."

Eragon bowed his head in disappointment.

"Then should we draw the Ra'zac out? If we let Saphira be seen, they'll come running to wherever she is."

"And when they do, there will be fifty soldiers with them," Brom pointed out. "At any rate, this isn't the time to discuss it. Right now we have to concentrate on staying alive. Tonight will be the most dangerous because the Ra'zac will be hunting us in the dark, when they are strongest. We'll have to trade watches until morning."

"Right," said the boy, standing and suddenly freezing as if he saw something.

"What is it?" Brom asked from unrolling his blankets.

"I don't know. I thought I saw something. It must have been a bird."

* * *

><p>While the men had been chatting, Saphira mentally contacted Tricia for the first time, finding the girl's mind well-fortified, if not perfectly so; regardless, she was allowed and the females proceeded to have a short conversation that began with the dragon threatening to tear Tricia to pieces if she brought harm to Eragon and continued a little more amiably.<p>

"**Why do you travel in the shadow of the Empire when you could still be living comfortably in Carvahall?"** Saphira asked.

Tricia (or whatever her name really was) opened her eyes to gaze up at the dragon.

"**Just like you, noble one, I have no choice, now. If I hadn't left, maybe I could have actually stayed there and lived in peace, but then I would have canceled out the reason I came there in the first place. There are some things even better than a perfect life alone,"** she replied cryptically.

"**Was it because of me?"**

"**No, but I'm glad to have seen you, shining scales."**

"**As am I. You do know that I don't share quite everything with Eragon, right?"**

"**I would have expected some of that." **Tricia sighed, knowing where the conversation was going. **"I have the feeling that I can trust at least you, Saphira, so yes, I'll come to you if a need to talk."**

"**Trust me, trust my Rider."**

"**We'll see about that. So far, he seems like a silly farm boy with eyes wide to the world unknown. Why did you choose him anyway?"**

"**The same reason you choose to become a fugitive: for a chance at something better than an eternity of quiet loneliness."**

Then, a twig snapped.

Before Saphira or anyone else could do anything, the two Ra'zac leapt out of the shadows and attacked. The smaller one instantly knocked Eragon unconscious and held a dagger to his throat in order to keep the dragon quiet. The larger one fell upon Brom, punching him senseless, and threw a large, heavy stick at Tricia. The woman had at least had the chance to sit up and pull a dagger from her boot in preparation to throw it before being caught off guard by the flying log and finding herself likewise incapacitated, falling face down on the ground.

The bigger creature curiously rolled the young woman onto her back to look at her face, only to hiss in surprise and leap for ropes to secure their prisoners.

Wow. Long chapter. Hope you enjoyed!


	3. More Than Appearances

Thank you everyone for your reviews!

If blood will flow when flesh and steel are one  
>Drying in the color of the evening sun<br>Tomorrow's rain will wash the stains away  
>But something in our minds will always stay<br>Perhaps this final act was meant  
>To clinch a lifetime's argument<br>That nothing comes from violence and nothing ever could  
>For all those born beneath an angry star<br>Lest we forget how fragile we are.

More Than Appearances

A throbbing pain in his head woke Eragon to a blinding lantern sitting right in front of him as he lay on the ground, hands tied behind his back. The boy twisted around, straining his eyes to see a motionless Brom on the ground nearby. For some reason, he was relieved to see the old man's arms likewise restricted, though it strangely took him a moment to figure out why. Then he realized: they wouldn't tie up a dead man!

Turning a little more, he found himself faced with a pair of black boots; a little further, and he was staring into the beaked, cowled face of a Ra'zac. In an instant of panic, the boy reached out for the ancient words to kill the horrid thing. The problem was that the words simply escaped him. How could he have forgotten the most important thing in his life, so far? And why did everything seem so foggy and convoluted?

Above him, the Ra'zac laughed chillingly, hissing,

"The drug is working, yesss? I think you will not be bothering us again." Hearing a rattling off to the left, Eragon was horrified to find Saphira being muzzled by their other captor, black chains and shackles restraining her wings and legs. He bit his tongue in frustration when he couldn't contact her. "She was most cooperative once we threatened to kill you."

It then squatted down next to Eragon's possessions as its companion fetched Tricia's saddlebags and did likewise with them, rummaging through them and discarding most items. They did, however, found two items of apparent interest: from Eragon's sack, Zarroc, and, from Tricia's bag, a black-hilted dagger in a likewise-colored hilt encrusted with clear and emerald gems.

"What a pretty thing for one so…insignificant," the Ra'zac commented about Zarroc, only to screech upon seeing the signifying symbol on the cover, causing its companion to rush over. They both spent a few seconds hissing and clicking in conversation over the item. They temporarily ignored what Eragon foggily noted as a gorgeous weapon – what had been found in the woman's saddlebags. "You will serve our master very well, yesss."

Eragon struggled against his thick tongue to growl back,

"If I do, I will kill you."

"Oh no, we are too valuable. But you…you are _disposable_." Suddenly, Tricia groaned slightly through her forced sleep, catching the attention of the other creature, who lightly kicked her onto her back. In the dim light, her normally hard, stoic face almost seemed peaceful. "What should we do with her?"

"Durza will want to question her before passing her along. Why not send the package now?" the other one suggested.

With a whispering chuckle, it reached to lift the woman by her collar, only to drop again, shrieking. Swiftly snatching away and tossing what appeared to be a sharp, eight-pronged silver star necklace, it finally managed to grab her. He dragged the lady into the shadows, a strange menace seemed to be lurking. Eragon couldn't make it out and Saphira couldn't (and probably wouldn't, anyway) tell him; but, after a few moments, there was a great rush of air as the Ra'zac watched whatever flying creature they possessed.

A groan suddenly emitted from Brom, snapping the Ra'zac's attention back to earth.

"It'sss wearing off," one said, lifting the old man easily into the air.

"Give him more."

"Let'sss just kill him. He has caused us much grief."

"A good plan," agreed the big one, running a finger along its vicious-looking sword. "But remember, the king's instructions were to keep them _alive_."

"We can sssay he was killed when we captured them."

"And what of thisss one?" the Ra'zac asked, pointing its sword at Eragon. "If he talksss?"

"He would not dare," the other threatened, toying with Tricia's dagger.

"Agreed."

The next few minutes were filled with panic for the young Dragon Rider. He strained and pulled against his bindings, only to once again be faced by an angry Ra'zac. It seemed as though they were going to execute Brom…until they both sensed something wrong, sniffing. For a moment, they ignored it and were just about to slice the old man's throat when an abrupt buzzing sound was followed by the howling of the Ra'zac as an arrow stabbed through its shoulder.

While the creatures huddled together in bewilderment, Eragon yelled at his companion as he blearily staggered to his feet. He simply ignored him and tottered toward the boy even as more arrows flew into the camp from the unknown attackers.

Finally recovering from their initial surprise, the first arrow-decorated Ra'zac dropped Tricia's dagger and raced toward the road in a panic, viciously kicking Eragon in the side as it passed. The second, after pausing, drew a dagger of its own and hurled the weapon at the boy as it retreated. Even as the distant flapping of wings similar to those that had taken Tricia started up, a sudden fire was ignited in Brom's eyes and he jumped in front of the dagger's path.

Eragon screamed when the wounded warrior hit the ground, but the pain of his own injury overcame him just then.

* * *

><p>For quite a while upon regaining consciousness, the young Rider was only aware of the fiery pain in his side where the Ra'zac had kicked him. Finally, he looked around and discovered a campfire curiously nearby and his hands still tied behind his back. He next noticed Saphira hovering over him with her wings spread protectively. Thankfully, the drug had faded at last and he was able to think properly.<p>

"**Saphira, are you injured?"** he promptly queried.

"**No, but you and Brom are,"** was the growling response.

"**Saphira, you didn't make that fire, did you? And you couldn't have gotten out of those chains by yourself."**

"**No."**

"**I didn't think so. Do you remember what happened to Tricia?"**

"**The Ra'zac shipped her off with a strange flying creature."**

Getting up onto his knees, Eragon noticed another person sitting on the other side of the fire, cautiously watching the dragon. His clothes were dark and well-worn, but he had an air of calm and confidence. He possessed a strong bow in his hands, a long had-and-a-half sword at his side, a white horn with silver fittings in his lap, a dagger sticking out of his boot, and a great gray war-horse picketed behind him. He was a little taller and a little older than Eragon with a serious face and fierce eyes framed by locks of dark brown hair.

"Who are you?" the farm boy managed, taking a shallow breath from the pain in his ribs.

The man's grip tightened on the bow in his hands, but he answered anyway, his voice low and controlled, but strangely emotional.

"Murtagh."

Cringing when he pulled his hands under his legs so that they were in front of him, Eragon noticed Murtagh holding Tricia's star necklace dangling between his fingers. Did this man know Tricia?

"Why did you help us?"

"You aren't the only enemies the Ra'zac have. I was tracking them."

"You know who they are?"

"Yes."

"It wasn't because of Tricia, was it?" Eragon asked again, probing for answers and glancing at the glittering necklace.

Simple confusion appeared in the stoic man's eyes.

"No. Who's Tricia?"

"A woman who helped us escape Dras-Leona. She…" He decided at the last minute to forget trying to explain to this stranger how an old egg-seller in his small village had turned out to be a beautiful young magician. "Do you recognize her name?"

"No."

Shrugging, the younger traveler focused on his hands and reached for the magic, only to pause with a suspicious look at Murtagh. After a moment's deliberation, he decided that it didn't matter at this point; after all, he had already seen Saphira.

"Jierda!"

The stranger sucked in his breath upon seeing the ropes simply snapping off Eragon's wrists. He rushed forward to help when the boy found himself unable to stand, thanks to his ribs, only to be held off by a growling Saphira.

"I would have helped you earlier, but your dragon wouldn't let me near you."

"Her name's Saphira. **Now let him by! I can't do this alone. Besides, he saved our lives."**

The next several minutes consisted of Murtagh binding Eragon's seemingly broken ribs, an attempt to heal the nasty stab wound between the ribs of a motionless Brom (which only resulted in the healing of the surface, not the potential internal injuries), and Murtagh proceeding to make soup for the light-headed magician.

As the rescuer was fixing the meal, Eragon took the opportunity to study the man, noting the peculiar fineness of his horn and weapons. Either he was a thief or simply used to a great amount of money at his disposal. Questions ran through his mind concerning the reason why this character would be tracking the Ra'zac and if he worked with the Varden: the greatest organization against Galbatorix and, at this point, probably Eragon's best bet for finding allies.

Ultimately, it was agreed that they would make a makeshift sling in which to place Brom for Saphira to carry to safer ground. As the dragon took off with her burden, Murtagh watched her flight in awe.

"I never thought I would see a sight like that," he wondered as Eragon fetched his horse, Cadoc, as well as Snowfire and Tricia's steed.

Easing himself into the saddle, the Dragon Rider looked down at his strange helper and addressed him.

"Thanks for helping us. You should leave now. Ride as far away from us as you can. You'll be in danger if the Empire finds you with us. We can't protect you, and I wouldn't see harm come to you on our account."

"A pretty speech," the other commented, grinding down the fire, "but where will you go? Is there a place nearby that you can rest in safety?"

"No."

Again, his eyes said that there was more than he was saying; however, Murtagh hid any emotion by grabbing Tricia's dagger that had been discarded near the fire, leaving him holding both remaining signs of the wonderful (if weird) girl. He didn't ask if he could have it or whose it was; he just stuffed it into his saddlebags. Too bad Eragon couldn't think of anything at the time to stop him.

"In that case, I think I'll accompany you until you're out of danger. I've no better place to be. Besides, if I stay with you, I might get another shot at the Ra'zac sooner than if I were on my own. Interesting things are bound to happen around a Rider."

"Join us if you wish."

Saphira could always chase him off.

With Eragon towing Snowfire and Murtagh submitting to leading Tricia's horse, the duo raced off into the night.

* * *

><p>Awakening with your hands tied behind your back, no recollection of how it came to be, and sluggish brain function is bad enough. Not only did the girl known as Tricia return to consciousness with her arms bound behind her, but she quickly discovered that she was sitting on a giant, dragonish rat sort of creature, tied securely to the saddle, and, worse than that, they were flying…hundreds of feet in the air. On top of that, she could barely remember her own name, let alone anything to do with magic.<p>

For the first time in years, she really felt defeated. The fuzziness of every thought and movement didn't help.

Minutes after she woke, her frightful steed broke through a misty cloud-cover to reveal the mass of land below. It took all the woman's remaining strength not to throw up right then and there. In what seemed to be just the blink of an eye, they had landed in a fortress of a city. Guards were reaching up and untying her restraints. As Tricia was practically carried towards the building's interior, she caught sight of a flash of red hair. This was turning out to be a bad day.

In another foggy blink of the eye, she was walking down a hallway lined with grim doors – well, actually, the guards were walking and simply dragging her along. Groans and screams emanated from a few of the cells and a couple others had the stench of death pouring through the seams. Rats were not infrequent.

"I think you need to get new help," she said slowly, thanks to the drugs, to the soldier on her left. "The housekeeping is getting a bit behind."

Whatever his level of hardness, the hazy joke made him crack a smile. She always did like breaking through the shells of hardened warriors. Often, what one saw was merely a shield protecting a gentle heart, even if it did belong to Galbatorix, as it seemed with these men. Thankfully, the drug hadn't completely destroyed her wit…yet.

Then, about halfway down the eternity-long hall, she noticed another group of soldiers marching towards her as they came the opposite direction. Walking limply between two of them was a perfectly recognizable lady. Though her black leather clothes were stained by the occasional spot of blood and she was much paler and a big thinner since their last encounter, Arya the stubborn elf was perfectly recognizable…and, apparently, as they began to pass, she also recognized Tricia.

The sight seemingly gave the queenly woman new life. One would think that, upon meeting someone who once tried to save you from a trove of Urgals and a Shade, one would at least be a little grateful. Not so.

With her emerald eyes flashing like those of a demon, Arya lunged at Tricia with a snarl.

"Nice…to see you too," the slightly shorter and definitely more calm lady stated.

"Traitor!" the elf hissed, still straining against baffled guards.

"Me? A traitor? All I did was…" The drug was affecting her memory, apparently. "Well, what I do know is that I tried to save your life from that Shade, Lady High-and-Mighty. I offered; you said no."

"Trickster! You helped them!"

"I was completely out of the loop for a good…two, three, four years…bah! I didn't even know that that thing was around until he started chasin' you."

"So it really is you," the 'he' of the conversation said as he suddenly slithered between the two fighting hens. Durza looked greedily back and forth between the black-haired beauties before speaking again. "It seems I am going to have some interesting conversations with you both, from now on." Tricia barely contained a flinch when the white-faced Shade closed in on her until his piercing eyes were only centimeters from hers. "You escaped fire, Urgals, and magic, yet here you are…"

Suddenly, Durza seemed to see something in her eyes that he didn't like, hissing and walking away again as he snapped his fingers for Arya's guard to follow.

* * *

><p>After a few hours of hard, silent riding, Saphira got tired and scouted out a sizeable, hundred-foot long sandstone cave. It took them about an hour to get the horses up the rocky hill, but they eventually made it. Murtagh then went to collect firewood while Eragon ran to check on the old man where the dragon had placed him on a little rock ledge at the back of the cave.<p>

While he was outside, trying to find dry wood in the scattered forest, Murtagh glanced back up through his dark disheveled hair, half expecting to find that huge dragon or even Eragon looking down and watching to make sure he didn't do anything suspicious. But no one appeared. With that out of the way, he set his burden down, leaned against a shadowed tree, and reached into his pocket.

The item he pulled out was the eight-pointed silver star he had found on the ground. The three-quarter-inch pendant seemed to glitter in the faint moonlight. Whoever this 'Tricia' was, Eragon had seemed just as confused about her identity as Murtagh had been for that brief moment. But it was clear that she was daring and clear-headed enough to help a young Rider escape two of Galbatorix's most prized henchmen…at least for a while.

As he just stood there, gazing at the delicate craftsmanship, a sudden spark lighting in his dark eyes. He had much to consider on this night. What was lost may yet be found.

Hope you liked! :)


	4. Alter Ego

Yep, this one has a lot of book-following bits, but I promise you that Tricia is coming back soon with a vengeance, along with plenty of OC scenes. Of course, as usual, despite being 'by the book' (pardon the pun), these scenes are really important.

All that rolls our way  
>Wheels that time will play<br>Happiness grows back  
>Heartache leaves a scratch<p>

Alter Ego

Eragon was exhausted, but his worry kept sleep at bay just enough to torture him with the thought of it. Brom had refused to drink and his condition had only worsened as a fever started up. Murtagh had only been gracious and helpful since his appearance; but still, he was a complete stranger. Fortunately, that didn't bother the boy too much. Then there was Tricia: the woman he thought he had known as a simple country lady and a good friend, only to have her turn up with more mysteries than he could count.

Where had the Ra'zac taken her? He knew the question would bug him for the rest of the night if he didn't do something about it. Luckily, at the edge of the cave, there was a natural bowl in the floor with water in it from the storm, so he didn't have to waste his own on pure curiosity. Careful not to aggravate his ribs, he hobbled over, knelt down, and focused on an image of the lady who had saved his neck from the Ra'zac in that cathedral.

"Draumr kópa."

After shimmering for a moment, the water reflected a shadowy room with a barred window, a small rickety table with a water pitcher, and a slim cot with a woman sitting on it – a sight similar to his dreams. She was curled up in a corner against the wall, glaring at an invisible person or people in the middle of the room through tousled curls. Even though her face was dirty and spotted with dried blood, this one was definitely Tricia.

Her mouth opened in a silent snarl when an unseen force grabbed both her arms, dragging her from the bed despite her struggle. Towards the door, however, the girl suddenly froze with both feet curled under her in the air and hands balled into tight fists. Fear shot through her eyes when something forced her to look up. Eragon was forced to let the vision fade and fall into a fitful sleep with that look of fear imprinted on his mind.

* * *

><p>Murtagh often had bad dreams - dreams of his father - dreams of Galbatorix. But, with those dreams, he had learned to deal with them and sleep right on through. After saving the Dragon Rider from the Ra'zac, the attached events, and trying to avoid falling asleep, however… Well, for once, he was happy to be rudely awakened - by Eragon.<p>

He quick himself helping Eragon to keep the injured old man from hurting himself as he thrashed in a feverish fit on the floor of the cave. After the patient became still and Eragon noted the raging fever, he commanded,

"Get me water and a cloth."

Knowing the urgency of the situation, Murtagh simply obeyed, watching the boy worry over his master. Just as the Rider began to relax, however, their charge grabbed Eragon's shoulder, his delirious eyes snapping open as he gasped,

"You! Bring me the wineskin!"

"Brom?" Eragon cried with relief. "You shouldn't drink wine; it'll only make you worse."

Brom...

"Bring it, boy," Brom snapped, sighing from exhaustion as his hand slipped back to the ground. "Just bring it…"

"I'll be right back – hold on." With that, Eragon raced to the saddlebags and rummaged through them in a panic. "I can't find it!"

"Here, take mine," Murtagh offered, grabbing his leather wineskin and handing it over before retreating to the cave entrance to give the others some privacy to talk. It was quite apparent, at this point, that Brom wasn't going to make it.

The sight reminded him of when he had escaped from Urû'baen with Tornac, his beloved trainer. Just as with Eragon and the Ra'zac, his teacher had received the fatal blow at the very threshold of freedom. The key difference was that Murtagh didn't have the chance to say goodbye; Eragon did…and he respected that. Of course, Tornac wasn't the only person he cared about who ran out of his life with hardly any warning.

There was one point in the nearby conversation when Murtagh glanced over and caught the dying man looking straight at him with accusatory shock. Apparently, he had somehow recognized the young wanderer. Brom…if it truly was Brom the Dragon Rider, then he probably recognized the physical similarities between him and…Morzan.

That single gaze. There was no sympathy in those eyes, just the same mistrust shown by anyone who had ever seen the terrible Foresworn before his abrupt demise. However grateful Murtagh had been that day, that cruel man still haunted him from beyond the grave through the mistrust of everyone who knew what he was or who his father was. Only a scattered few ever understood him and didn't treat him like a wolf ready to bite. Some of them were dead and others simply gone. But maybe Eragon would turn out to be a friend. Still, he dreaded the moment of telling the boy of his heritage.

Hours passed in silence until Eragon cried for Murtagh's help, but, when he rushed over, there was nothing to do. As he locked eyes with the younger boy, a look of utter contentment spread over Brom's face. It was then that the old stranger died.

His body was placed in a magic-wrought sandstone tomb near the cave and left to rest there till the end of time.

* * *

><p>Warmth seeped welcomingly into the spacious cave as a recently awakened Eragon stood at the entrance. He was trying to fathom what the world would be like with Brom the storyteller – Brom the Dragon Rider. At least, he had been a Rider until Morzan, the first and last of the king's traitorous Foresworn followers, slaughtered his beloved dragon, whose name had also been Saphira.<p>

In the cave empty of all life but that of himself and the horses, the boy felt like a great void had been created – an end to a chapter in his life. The witch Angela had been right about the close death in her foretelling; he just hadn't expected it to be this.

Eventually, Murtagh returned to the cave and, after a few exchanged words, sat beside the lonely Rider. Seemingly curious about something, the dark stranger finally said,

"I dislike asking this at such a time, but I must know… Is your Brom _the_ Brom? The one who helped steal a dragon egg from the king, chased it across the Empire, and killed Morzan in a dual? I heard you say his name, and I read the inscription you put on his grave, but I must know for certain, Was that he?"

"It was. Perhaps that was why Tricia never got along with him to begin with," Eragon whispered, still trying to decipher the mystery of his missing companion. Murtagh's troubled expression brought more curiosity than ever to the foreground. "How do you know all that? You talk about things that are secret to most, and you were trailing the Ra'zac right when we needed help. Are you one of the Varden?"

The older boy's eyes became inscrutable orbs and his voice was greatly restrained.

"I'm running away, like you. I do not belong either to the Varden or the Empire. Nor do I owe allegiance to any man but myself. As for my rescuing you, I will admit that I've heard whispered tales of a new Rider and reasoned that by following the Ra'zac I might discover if they were true."

"I thought you wanted to kill the Ra'zac."

A grim smile appeared on his face.

"I do, but if I had, I never would have met you."

While they waited for Saphira to return from hunting, Eragon rifled through Brom' bags, finding a stash of coins and a map of Alagaesia, among other things, before strapping Zar'roc to his waist. Seconds after he crouched beside the fire, Murtagh looked up from skinning his catch of rabbits with narrow eyes.

"That sword. May I see it?" he queried, wiping the animal blood from his hands.

Murtagh's reaction to the red sword was eye-opening and even more confusing all at once. According to Murtagh, it had belonged to Morzan, the last of the Foresworn whom Brom had killed in battle. The other runner was greatly agitated by the thought of Eragon carrying such a horrific weapon, but he ultimately accepted the Rider's choice of bearing it, at least temporarily. It was strange how, when he handled the blade, it seemed to perfectly fit his hand.

After eating, Eragon decided that he would sell his horse and keep Snowfire and Tricia's horse (it surprised him that he never found out the animal's name). Again, Murtagh surprised him by volunteering to go along. His explanation was bold truth:

"You won't want to stay here for much longer. If the Ra'zac are nearby, Brom's tomb will be like a beacon for them. And your ribs are going to take time to heal. I know you can defend yourself with magic, but you need a companion who can lift things and use a sword. I'm asking to travel with you, at least for the time being. But I must warn you, the Empire is searching for me. There'll be blood over it eventually."

Eragon couldn't help but laugh at that statement. He laughed till it hurt. He laughed till he cried. At least he didn't have to worry about endangering some innocent bystander.

"I don't care if the entire army is searching for you. You're right. I do need help. I would be glad to have you along, though I have to talk to Saphira about it. But I have to warn _you_, Galbatorix just _might_ send the entire army after me. You won't be any safer with Saphira and me than if you were on your own."

Another grin.

"I know that. But all the same, it won't stop me."

"Good."

After Saphira returned, she agreed that Murtagh could come and proposed finding a contact of Brom's in Gilead who would have information about the Varden. Personally, Eragon hoped that the famous fortress would hold the tortured, dying woman from his dreams. If only they could rescue her.

Some time later, they had packed everything up and the Rider was resting for a few short moments before the torturous journey, staring into yet-to-be quenched fire.

Eragon was broken from his thoughts when Murtagh suddenly crouched down across from him and gazed into his eyes with a threatening fierceness.

"Who's Tricia?" He had asked the same question before.

While Eragon looked at the wanderer rather suspiciously, he was finally a little more forthcoming, his explanation a mournful drone.

"Tricia (I doubt that that's even her real name) is a woman…girl…female personage who came to live near my village about two and a half years ago. She settled in pretty nicely, but there was always something…different about her. Needless to say, she was definitely not from the area.

"Then, several months ago, she disappeared and left everything she owned to Brom, despite the fact that they had never really gotten along. After Brom and I left to hunt the Ra'zac, we eventually crossed paths again; only, it turned out that, instead of an old runaway spinster, she is a beautiful magician now wanted by the Empire for her abilities. Why do you ask about her?"

The description had simply sparked the stoic young man's interest.

"And her appearance?"

Eragon growled with impatience.

"She's ladylike and gorgeous but strong; she has curly raven hair, and gray eyes. Again, why do you ask? I may feel like I barely know her now, but she was my friend for two years."

Again, his question was ignored.

"How can someone who has kept herself a stranger to you be your friend?"

"Some people have a certain feeling of mystery and danger around them that makes you think, 'stay away; they're dangerous'. While Tricia was definitely a strange one, she never let injustice pass; examples being the time a trader tried to sell me a trinket for three times its worth and, more recently, the time she chased a shepherd off her land because his sheep eating where they weren't welcome. I honestly don't know why exactly I trusted her, but I did and it paid off: she helped me escape from the Ra'zac in Dras-Leona."

"…only to be captured by them soon after."

"The point is that she has a level head and tried to help and it wasn't any of her fault that we were overtaken by more than we bargained for." Now the boy was reaching for excuses and getting completely off track. And he knew it.

Murtagh shook his head and stood.

"You will have to choose your friends carefully from now on, Dragon Rider. If this 'Tricia' is anything like you say and she survives her encounter with the Ra'zac and manages to escape, she would make a potentially good ally. Unfortunately, the Empire isn't too easy when it comes to breakouts. Wherever she is, I hope they sorely underestimate her."

"Do you happen to know her, or have you heard of her?" the boy asked incredulously. It would make sense; they were both on the run from the Empire and had stories they weren't readily telling.

The other man shrugged carelessly, crushing the fire into nothingness.

"No."


	5. Caught OffGuard

Thank you all for your reviews!

Well, my friends, this is the probable end of my timely updating. So sad, I know. Yup, going to college in three days. Scary stuff. While I have the next few chapters mostly written so that they will be easy to finish up when I can, I have no idea what my updating schedule will be like. (And my OC's storyline was just getting good. :P) HOWEVER, I can assure you that, on my breaks, I will be writing like wild fire from having my fanfiction passion bottled up with studying and singing. This isn't the most thought-provoking update ever (unlike my upcoming writings), but I hope you enjoy it anyway. :) Wish me luck!

If my hands could hold them you'd see  
>I'd take all these secrets in me<br>And I'd move and mold them to be  
>Something I'd set free<p>

Caught Off-Guard

The following days traveling in complete isolation would have been boring if not for Murtagh's company. Since they both seemed to have the same interests, they were able to spend hours debating things like finer points of archery and hunting; they also shared a few details of their sword training. On the other hand, they also respected each other's boundaries when it came to their past. Eragon didn't share his history of how he found Saphira or met Brom or where he was from, and Murtagh was silent concerning the reasons why the Empire was after him and whether he knew Tricia. All in all, they were probably going to be good friends if this ceaseless paranoia that came from being on the run would just go away.

As he began to relax from their lack of encounters with the Ra'zac or Urgals, his suspicions were heightened by his failure to see the cell-confined woman from his dreams. Also, he was curious as how Murtagh was so familiar and enthusiastic about the power struggles, politics, nobles, and courtiers in the Empire. In some ways, the man was just as mysterious as Tricia…actually, in most ways.

During their skirting around the capital, Uru'baen, and following the Ramr River through the last leg of their journey, Eragon's sixteenth birthday came and went without any notice and Saphira grew into a massive, muscular beauty. Every village they passed with a prison, Eragon would disguise himself, slip in, despite the wanted posters for him everywhere, and search for the lady in his dreams. Compared to her, even Tricia was a second thought. Tricia was probably in a comfortable cell somewhere while he knew the other girl to be suffering.

One night, with his ribs finally healed, the Rider decided to introduce Murtagh to the advantages of using magic to dull their swords for sparring. As usual when he saw Zar'roc out in the open, his companion tensed significantly as he sat whittling a piece of wood. However, once Eragon was able to convince Murtagh of the adequate safety, he accepted the mock challenge.

Eragon's initiating attempted strike at his opponent's shoulder was met midair by the other sword. Disengaging with a flourish, he reattempted an attack with a thrust, only to have Murtagh parry and dance away with shocking speed.

"**He's fast!"** the Rider exclaimed. Saphira just laughed, enjoying the show.

Back and forth they went for quite sometime, trying and failing to batter each other into submission. After a few particularly harsh blows, Murtagh began outright laughing. Neither of them was even close to gaining an advantage and, to top it off, they were both tiring at the same rate.

At last, Eragon just yelled,

"Enough, halt!"

Murtagh stopped in the middle of a stroke and both men collapsed to the ground in exhaustion. This fight had given him a new appreciation for his strange partner-in-crime. Not even a single one of his practices with Brom had been that intense.

"You're amazing!" Murtagh exclaimed, still gasping for air. "I've studied swordplay all my life, but never have I fought one like you. You could be the king's weapon master if you wanted to."

"You're just as good. The man who taught you, Tornac, could make a fortune with a fencing school. People would come from all parts of Alagaesia to learn from him."

"He's dead," was the short response.

"I'm sorry."

Eragon didn't pry any further that time. He had learned to drop a subject when the other traveler got that haunted, hard look.

Secrets or not, they spent every following night sparring, which kept them lean and fit. Eragon resumed his practicing of magic, which Murtagh watched with intense interest. While he lacked detailed knowledge and couldn't use it himself, he knew a surprising amount about how magic worked. When the Rider used the ancient language, he would sometimes ask what certain words meant.

He was particularly interested in 'Draumr kópa', the phrase used to scry someone; however, he went silent when Eragon asked after it.

It was on this occasion of inquiry as they rode along the river that Murtagh once more brought up Tricia, a subject that had oddly fallen into the background.

"Why do you search for his woman you've never met before, but don't bother looking for your friend?"

For a moment, Eragon was stunned. He had been so consumed by the bleeding, half-dead dream-lady that he had barely given his captured companion any thought. She had, after all, saved his life. But, for all he knew, the Ra'zac had a right to take her. Maybe she was running away from a marriage or some silly noble's plot. He voiced that excuse, adding,

"Besides, you pointed out before that someone who keeps secrets like that shouldn't necessarily be trusted as a friend."

"I keep secrets from you and you keep secrets from me. That hasn't stopped us from becoming friends."

Caught making excuses.

"I honestly don't really know. After she disappeared and then suddenly turned out to be this whole 'bad girl' wanderer, I felt…betrayed." Murtagh shifted uncomfortably. "But that's no excuse. She was kind and saved my neck from the Ra'zac and got herself captured doing so. I think she would have liked you."

"If the Ra'zac took her and they are working for the king…she might be in Gil'ead. It's a long shot, but worth a try."

"Why are you so concerned about her, anyway?"

Again, the awkward shift.

"No lady, particularly one selfless enough to put herself in harm's way for you, should be subjected to creatures like the Ra'zac."

"For all we know, the rumors were right and she was just some noble's runaway daughter, and she's sitting in some cozy bed lamenting her fate in the life of the rich."

Murtagh shook his head at Eragon's denial. There was something in his look beyond general pity for a damsel-in-distress.

* * *

><p><em>With a frustrated grin, the Shade turned from his limp victim chained to the wall and reached for a pen-like dagger on the nearby table. As entertaining as having <em>two_ interrogation subjects was, these particular two were beginning to test his patience. _

"_I know that you were with the Dragon Rider when the Ra'zac captured him, so you are only delaying the inevitable. Why torture yourself?" As he turned back, toying with the black knife between his fingers, Durza's grin tightened a bit more. He had seen the other prisoner's hostility towards Tricia. "If you don't give me information before the elf breaks, I just might have to arrange a…mix-up in your cell assignment that will unfortunately put you helplessly in her reach."_

_Tricia coughed a laugh, glaring through the trail of blood that ran over her eye.  
><em>

"_You wouldn't _dare_."_

_Sneering, the Shade stalked over to tower over the black-haired beauty, who now had several purple, black, and yellow bruises on her face alone in addition to the cut above her eye. With his new tool, he adjusted his grip and pointed the blade toward Tricia's shoulder, flipping her around and crushing her against the partition. What probably made it fun for him was that the knife was enchanted specifically to cause extreme pain._

Banging the door open, two muscular guards hustled into the infinitesimal cell, their bulk hiding the slight person between them until they dropped her on the cot and marched out. A faint moan emitted from the pile of bloodied fabric, matted hair, and bruised flesh as it trembled in the silent, empty room.

Her wrists were raw from the chains that had held her during her 'visits' with Durza; her mind felt numb and unfocused from the drugs they forced upon her; and her entire body throbbed…and, each time it did so, her tall, slim form shivered, despite her utter exhaustion.

Then, there was Arya. That elf was surely a quandary. Even after weeks and months of constant torture, she had still managed to recognize her and had the strength to try ripping out Tricia's throat. It was impressive, but frightening. Arya had been tough enough when they first met – everyone had – but this was just ridiculous. The princess needed to be saving what strength she had left, not squandering it on pointless past assumptions.

Then she finally got sick of waiting.

Summoning every bit of strength she had, Tricia rolled onto her side and fought the overwhelming, gut-wrenching rush of nausea and lightheadedness as she fell onto the stone floor. The only sense that seemed to be working properly was her hearing; in fact, every little crack, scratch, and scuff seemed to pierce through the rock walls with constant, horrid screeches. But there was one sound that suddenly stood out, belonging to a confident-voiced man. There was something about it that urged her onward.

Painstakingly crawling to the table and putting all of her weight on it to raise herself to a crouched standing position, she grabbed the bars of the outdoor window. For a moment, it was all she could do to simply hang there, resting her forehead on the cold rock and trusting her clinging hands to not fail her. Finally, the repeated voice gave her the determination to stand and look for the source.

Even stretching on her tiptoes, shuddering at the unspeakable pain shooting through her body, she could barely get a full view of the window-level street and identical log houses all along it. But then she saw him. Standing just across from her prison in the doorway of a structure labeled 'Fletcher' was a stunningly handsome man with shaggy dark hair. As he finished talking to another man further inside, he backed out onto the street and turned to look around for anything suspicious.

Tricia sucked in a hasty breath upon seeing his stern face and deep, penetrating eyes; then, their eyes locked. Those dark orbs widened in utter shock and he plunged across the street toward the peering captive, dodging an ox-driven cart. Unfortunately, her slip of concentration cost the girl her grip and she plunged to the floor with agonizing force just before the man could reach her viewpoint.

Past the shooting pain in the back of her head, she heard a yell, followed by the sound of feet running away. Then everything went dark.

* * *

><p>Covered in Urgal blood from the fight before his capture, Eragon had awakened feeling sore and drugged. After discovering that he was in a bare room with a small table, a cot, and a barred window level, he slid to the floor, wondering why the sight of human life outside worried him.<p>

Over the time it took for two meals to come and go, the boy realized his problem: he had been captured by Urgals and ended up in a prison in the middle of civilization. He and Murtagh had been looking for that contact…but weren't they also looking for something inside Gil'ead? Didn't it supposedly have a prison? Maybe this was it. But why would the king's men be involved with those horrid brutes? It was too much to consider in his state.

Following a more-than-welcome nap, the methodical tramping of boots coming down the hall urged him to look through the barred window of his door. An impressive column of soldiers was marching past his cell, which was apparently one of many. As he watched the procession part a little to reveal the escorted prisoner, Eragon gasped. In the middle of the huddle, being dragged by two hulking guards, was a gorgeous woman with long midnight-black hair: the tortured, imprisoned woman from his dreams!

Her face was sculpted, like a fine painting; she had small feet, a round chin, high cheekbones, long lashes, and cat-like eyes; and her slim figure was covered by black leather. She made any other woman he had every seen look plain. There was something about her that made his blood boil. He had the sudden urge to abandon all reason and responsibility if only to protect her.

Then, her head lulled to the side and her voluminous hair fell away, revealing the _pointed ears_ of an _elf_. The boil turned to a chill.

Following the procession was a tall man with taut translucent skin and blood red hair. As he passed and turned his maroon eyes to look at the young Rider, the man's upper lip lifted into a feral smile; his teeth were filed to points…

**A Shade. So help me…a Shade, **he thought, horrified as he shrunk back.

A click sounded as the elf was deposited in one of the cells, and another click echoed down the miserable hall when another opened. His voice fill with sadistic pleasure, the Shade apparently addressed his next victim:

"Now, will you be more cooperative or do I have to put you with the elf? Even half dead, I'm sure she could manage breaking your neck."

Who? And why?

* * *

><p>Wrinkling his nose at the stench that still hung on him from the scullery chute, Murtagh stealthily slipped down the stone staircase. It had been a few days since Eragon's capture and, since then, he and Saphira had been concocting a breakout plan. Working with the noble creature had given him even more reason to be in awe of her. With her advice, a steep bribe, a costume and beard that made him look like a poor cripple, and a little caution, he had made it this far without problems.<p>

Before he reached the prison level, a soldier's voice rang out:

"Charge!"

Hearing Saphira trying to contact him, Murtagh lowered his mental defenses just enough to hear what she had to say.

"**Eragon is already out of his cell! Guards are trying to stop him!"**

That was all the encouragement he needed to step into the open, drop his ruse of a crutch, and put his bow to use. Halfway down the hall, four soldiers fell to his arrows and one died by Eragon's magic. When Murtagh drew an arrow to dispatch the final threat, however, the Rider leaning against the wall cried,

"Don't kill him!"

Reluctantly, Murtagh complied and watched the boy threaten his hostage with torture in his asking for the location of his sword and some elf. He didn't approach until the man collapsed on the floor. When he came close, Eragon narrowed his eyes in wonder.

"Murtagh! Is that you?"

"Yes," was the reply as Murtagh removed the fake beard from his clean-shaven face, still looking suspiciously at the guard. "I don't want my face seen. Did you kill him?"

"No, he's only asleep. How did you get in?"

"There's no time to explain. We have to get up to the next floor before anyone finds us. There'll be an escape route for us in a few minutes. We don't want to miss it."

"Didn't you hear what I said? There's an elf in the prison. I saw her! We have to rescue her. I need your help."

"An elf…! This is a mistake. We should flee while we have the chance," Murtagh growled even as he followed Eragon to the end cell on the left and produced a ring of keys from his cloak. "I took it from one of the guards."

As Eragon searched for the key to open his target door, Murtagh put his hand against the opposite cell entrance. He had worn the star necklace of Eragon's 'Tricia' around his neck so as not to lose it. He knew its owner would slice his throat if he couldn't return the delicate workmanship. Now, the silver pendant seemed to tingle against his skin when he touched the door. What if…?

"Murtagh!" Eragon called desperately, now inside the other captive's room, holding the collapsed elf in his arms. Murtagh rushed in and was stunned by the regal lady; even though she looked half dead, she was easily one of the loveliest creatures he had ever seen.

"She's beautiful!" Then, he shook himself at his own rashness.

"But hurt."

"We can tend to her later. Are you strong enough to carry her?" Eragon just shook his head. "Then I'll do it. But, first, can you open _that_ cell?"

"Why?"

"Just do it!" the man snapped, setting the limp elf gently down against the wall. Her scent (pine needles and spice) filled the hall with warm sweetness.

Stunned by Murtagh's abruptness, the Rider complied, only to gasp when he stood in the entrance, looking at the hostage within.

"Tricia!"

Ignoring the foreign name, Murtagh shoved past the boy. A strange desperation overcame him until he was facing the raven-haired woman lifelessly slumped on her cot within. She equally returned his look of astonishment.

"Nora."


	6. Corner of Your Heart

My sincerest apologies for the terrible delay! But let's just say that something has been keeping me away from my writing…oh, yeah, that would be full time college, work-study, and choir. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this little bit of storyline.

Corner of Your Heart

"_Nora!"_

"_You _do_ know her!" the other boy growled. He went ignored._

_Tricia sat bolt upright upon Murtagh's entrance, only to slump against the wall with a groan from the effort. Still, her dark eyes showed significant surprise...whether she was actually pleased, Eragon couldn't tell. _

"_You're a little unconventional for a soldier. Murtagh? What are you doing here?"_

_Her voice was tired and hoarse, but also concerned and slightly annoyed._

"_No time to explain," Murtagh replied shortly, helping the slight lady in standing. While she trembled a little from her ordeal, the woman stood tall in facing her rescuers. "Can you walk by yourself?"_

"_Certainly."_

_As she emerged into the hallway and saw Murtagh lifting the elf onto his shoulders, her lip curled in obvious disgust. Thankfully, she didn't need help walking, though she relied on the wall plenty._

Looking worriedly at the heavily trussed ceiling of the upstairs banquet hall, Murtagh anxiously spoke as he set Arya on one of the tables.

"Can you talk to Saphira for me?"

"Yes," Eragon answered, wondering what the man's 'brilliant' escape plan was.

"Tell her to wait another five minutes."

They went silent for a moment when a troop of soldiers went marching by the room.

"Whatever you're planning to do, I don't think we have much time."

"Just tell her, and stay out of sight," Murtagh snapped, running off on another unknown quest.

Hiding the elf under the table and gripping the dagger Murtagh had allowed him to borrow, Eragon once more noticed Nora: the farm lady turned...wandering stranger. Though she stood tall as those stormy eyes watched Murtagh leave the room, her strength seemed to suddenly give out a second after. The boy barely caught her before she collapsed completely and helped her sit on one of the dark hard wood benches. It was puzzling. Only seconds before, she had seemed fine. For a moment, the dark-haired girl simply leaned against his chest, too weak to keep herself straight.

During that time of being so close to Tricia, a queer realization suddenly sent a chill down Eragon's spine. It was like a mild version of the intoxicating draw he felt toward Arya. They were both beautiful, mysterious, and seemingly hardened fighters…but Arya was exotic, an unquestionably good character, and…just awe-inspiring. This other girl admittedly had that same draw of uncharted wonder, but she was a proven liar, she was rough around the edges, and she was insignificant in comparison to the elf's majesty.

But still…Nora-Tricia could have been a peasant or royalty for all of the mixed messages she had given since they had met. And her scent. It was like a grass-filled forest after a spring rain. How could he harden himself against that? And she had saved his life, in a way.

The tramp of boots urged Eragon to shove Nora under the table next to Arya before hiding himself. Ten soldiers entered the room and quickly looked under a few tables before passing through. The relief at not being discovered and the following respite suddenly made Eragon realize how hungry he was, so he quickly grabbed a half-eaten hunk of bread and a tankard of ale from one of the tables. Nora, who leaned against the nearest bench, strangely seemed sick at the thought of food, though she just scoffed in disapproval when he belched.

Murtagh finally returned carrying Zar'roc, two bows (the common bow he recognized as Nora's by the star-shaped scratches he had previously noted on the middle), an elegant sword without a sheath, a simple broadsword with a black hilt, a few mismatched daggers, and a leather satchel.

The returnee held up the strange bow and the fine blade with an appraising eye.

"I found these in the guardroom. I've never seen weapons like them before, so I assumed they were the elf's."

"Let's find out," Eragon offered through a mouthful of bread, admiring the sword – it was slim and light with a curving cross guard, the ends of which thinned to sharp points. It fit perfectly in the sheath on the elf's waist. The likewise elegant bow was probably hers as well. Who else would possess something so fine? Certainly not Nora. "What now? We can't stay here forever. Sooner or later, the soldiers will find us."

"Now, we wait," was the reply as Murtagh prepared an arrow to fire and handed the conscious lady the unclaimed items. "Like I said, our escape plan has been arranged."

"How did you know that those belonged to Nora?"

* * *

><p>Murtagh fingered his fletching thoughtfully. How to respond…? His eyes flickered to the woman whose possessions were in question. She looked up to meet his gaze from sluggishly slipping a six-inch blade with a silver and black ivory handle into her boot. He was hoping to find an answer there – some permission or foreboding scowl that would let him know whether to reveal the top layer of her innermost secrets. He found nothing – just convoluted questioning. But, when he opened his mouth to hopefully form an answer of sorts to Eragon's query, she beat him to it. Her manner, though breathy and staggered, was perfectly calm, as if she had nothing to hide.<p>

"All of my weapons have a story behind them, and all of them bear the same mark: the six-pointed star. It's a silly symbol from my childhood, but it's distinctive. And that's what I wanted."

"Any other silly questions, Eragon?" Murtagh chuckled.

Eragon, seeming to realize something, suddenly shook his head urgently, saying,

"No, we have to go. We shouldn't be waiting here."

"Why? Saphira will be coming in a few minutes. I don't think we were _that_ loud."

"You don't understand; there's a Shade here! If he finds us, we're doomed."

"A Shade! In that case, tell Saphira to come immediately. We were going to wait until the watch changed, but delaying even that long is too dangerous now. You messed up my plans by escaping."

Eragon couldn't help but smile at his friend's annoyance.

"In that case, perhaps I should have waited. _Your_ timing was perfect, though. I wouldn't have been able to even crawl if I had been forced to fight all of those soldiers with magic."

"Glad to be of some use." The soldiers nearby caught their attention. "Let's just hope the Shade doesn't find us."

At that, a bone-chilling chuckled fill the room before its owner smoothly said,

"I'm afraid it's far too late for that." The boys spun around. The Shade stood alone at the far end of the room with a sword in his hand that had a thin scratch down its length. When his cloak dropped to the floor, it revealed Durza's deceivingly thin form, though, in reality, Eragon knew that he was much stronger than a normal human. "So, my young _Rider_, do you wish to test yourself against me?" the Shade sneered. "I shouldn't have trusted the captain when he said you ate all your food. I _should_ have treated you the same as the _ladies_ – by force. I will not make that mistake again."

With those last sentences, Durza grinned at the two prone women, both of whom their guardians were momentarily ignoring.

"I'll take care of him," Murtagh stonily volunteered, trading the bow in his hand for his long blade.

"No," the Rider muttered. "He wants me alive, not you. I can stall him for a short while, but then you'd better have a way out for us."

"Fine, go. You won't have to hold him off for very long."

"I hope not."

As Eragon got out from under the table, Murtagh suddenly noticed that Nora was not nearly alert as she had been moments before.

* * *

><p>Her eyes kept shutting on their own accord. Pain throbbed throughout the length of her body. She could feel darkness enveloping her, no matter how hard she fought it. She could hear the Shade's insults, feel the urge to help fend off the danger, but she just couldn't. Her body was going limp against the support of her will.<p>

Through the fog of her feeble attempts to remain conscious, Nora heard the clash of steel, heard the groaning and crashing as if the roof were about to cave in, and felt someone drag her hastily from under the table and seat her roughly on a bench.

Eragon shouted something. Practically right next to her ear, there was the twang of an arrow being released from the string. Then another twang. Then the screech of pain. Then a shout and scrambling of weapons and armor. Then, just before she fell, strong arms caught her and held her close.

Beyond the rim of awareness, she could hear shouts and the roars of a dragon and the crashing of the roof. She felt herself being lifted, the gut-wrenching drop, someone's breath tickling her ear, someone holding her waist tightly, a sense of panic, then…nothing.

* * *

><p>After landing a pitiful half-league away from Gil'ead, Murtagh set about preparing the picketed, waiting horses while Eragon tended to the arrow wounds Saphira had acquired during their narrow escape. There had been a moment when they were mounting the dragon that he had contemplated sending Nora off with Eragon and finding some other way out, however unlikely it was. Thankfully, it had all worked out in the end, despite the near crash landing, which he wouldn't mention to the noble, if touchy, beast.<p>

Just as he was finishing with the horses, Eragon called Murtagh over and instructed him to hold the dragon's wing still while her Rider removed a lodged arrow. Saphira did her part by yanking a strong sapling out of the ground and biting down on it.

"Hold on," the other boy quietly instructed before yanking the dart out of her flesh. When he did so, the wing that Murtagh was holding made an unintentional jerk. As a result, the wing clipped his jaw and sent him sprawling on the ground. An extra present was a generous sprinkling of dirt as Saphira shook the uprooted tree she was holding prior to tossing it aside. After healing the hole, Eragon came to help the man back up.

"She caught me by surprise," he noted, touching the fresh scraped on his jaw.

"She didn't mean to hit you."

Seconds later, Murtagh was once again sprawled on the ground as Nora slipped from the saddle, thanks to Saphira's jerking, and landed directly on him. It had rather annoyed him when Eragon made the split second decision to secure the elf in the saddle's leg straps and leave Nora sandwiched limply between the two men; however, in the rush, he hadn't said anything.

Now, though, she was right there and waking up. Her long hair flailed desperately in every direction, including on Murtagh's face; it was damp from her inhospitable holding and smelled mildly of must, sweat, and blood. Blood. No, Nora would never let herself be hurt like that. Ever.

Seconds after falling and stirring, the girl groggily opened her eyes, lifted her head, and stared for a spare moment before realizing where she was and instantly rolling onto the ground. Propping herself on her elbows in the cool grass, she still stared.

"Murtagh? What happened? How did we escape?"

"No time to explain," Eragon hastily snipped, having sent Saphira off with the elf in a flurry of wind just after Nora's fall. Why was he so cautious with one girl and careless about the other? Scowling at the bleary-eyed female, the Rider quickly hauled Murtagh to his feet and proceeded to mount his steed, Snowfire. "We have to ride many miles before we can rest and figure out our next move."

Murtagh grumbled under his breath a little about the rescued boy's bossiness, but he calmly helped Nora to her feet and walked her over to Tornac. Despite how she was weakly leaning into him, the tough little damsel still tried to head for her own horse.

"I'm fine. Just let me ride for a while and I'll be all right," she vaguely protested. It seemed that she hadn't changed that much, after all.

"Oh no, you're not," he countered, tying the remaining horse's reigns to his saddle, effortlessly lifting Nora onto Tornac, and hopping up behind her. For split second when he was steadying the girl, Murtagh held onto her petite yet broad shoulder; strangely, this action caused a barely muffled whimper to emerge from Nora. Her hand shot up to his and her nails dug into the boy's flesh, despite her expressionless face. Filled with concern, he quickly moved his hand to her waist. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah. Just…fine."

Eragon cleared his throat in impatience, prompting a cut-off of Murtagh's inquiry as they rode. He knew that Nora wouldn't give away any weakness, one way or the other. That was how their friendship had always been: they sympathized with each other, but hated causing the other person unnecessary worry and pain. He could only ever hope that she would tell him if anything was really wrong.

Still, seeing her this _broken_ upon first seeing her after more than two – almost three years…it was a little shocking.

Shaking the worry away, Murtagh tightened his hold on Nora as she slipped into sleep again and steeled himself for a long night.

Thanks for reading! Again, I'm sorry for the delay.


	7. Healers

Yes! An update between the chaos of college! *cough* Anyway, I hope you enjoy this chapter. We're finally getting back into the groove of an actual fanfiction. Yippee!

So, by the way, if anyone has any knowledge about whether I'm breaking any laws or such by putting song bits into these chapters, please let me know. Thanks!

"_If you're lost you can look - and you will find me  
>Time after time<br>If you fall I will catch you - I'll be waiting  
>Time after time" –Cyndi Lauper<em>

Healers

In the wee hours of the morning, exhaustion forced the travelers to halt their flight. With Saphira's direction, they stopped near a stream at the base of a cliff. After some discussion with both of his companions, Eragon finally took the chance to thank his rescuer, who was momentarily setting Nora on the ground in a patch of grass under a drooping fir overhanging the water.

"You risked your life to rescue me; I owe you for that. I couldn't have escaped on my own."

It was a pitiful show of gratitude, especially since, after only traveling with Murtagh for about a month, they had forged a brother-like friendship through trials of battle and loyalty. The other man had had no bribing reason to break into that prison and rescue the Rider in the face of capture or death, but there he was.

"I'm just glad I could help. It…" Apparently uncomfortable with the conversation, Murtagh rubbed his face and continued, "My main worry now is how we're going to travel with so many men searching for us. Gil'ead's soldiers will be hunting us tomorrow; once they find the horses' tracks, they'll know you didn't fly away with Saphira."

"How did you manage to get into the castle?"

Murtagh laughed softly.

"By paying a steep bribe and crawling through a filthy scullery chute. But the plan wouldn't have worked without Saphira. She…" He then redirected his words at the dragon. "…that is, you, are the only reason we escaped alive."

Saphira hummed with pleasure at the comment. But, then, Eragon once more noticed the elf laying on the hard ground nearby. Why had Murtagh put her there and then favorably placed Nora in the soft grass?

"We should make a bed for her."

Murtagh instantly complied, laying out a blanket for the regal beauty before helping Eragon in moving her. Again he noted how plain Nora (or any other woman, for that matter) seemed compared to her. As the boys moved the elf, however, the cuff of her sleeve caught on a branch and tore open. When Eragon moved to repair the damage, he was shocked by what he saw.

The lady's arm was covered with bruises and cuts, some half healed and other still oozing and fresh. Anger bubbled up in the Dragon Rider as he lifted the sleeve further and found that the injuries went all the way to her shoulder. Trembling, he proceeded to unlace the back of her leather shirt and slipped it off of her shoulders.

Murtagh instantly cursed upon seeing the damage. The elf's muscular back was a horror image of cracked, dark scabs, numerous black and purple bruises from countless beatings, bloody, red marks from claw-shaped brands and whippings, and an indigo tattoo identical to the insignia on Brom's ring that Eragon now possessed. Whoever did this would never see another sunrise if they met him! Each beating and lashing had been just precise enough to bring her to the very edge of death – it was a terrible thought.

"Can you heal this?" Murtagh asked.

"I – I don't know."

* * *

><p>Most of the elf's body was practically black from the countless lashings and bruising. It was shocking that she had even survived. But, following several exhausting hours of magical healing of the more life-threatening injuries, it seemed that she would be out of the woods. And, beyond those hurts, though Eragon did all he could to preserve her modesty, he couldn't help but notice that she was incredibly breath-taking.<p>

Taking only short breaks to eat and drink, he successfully healed the more serious of the wounds by dawn, collapsing to the ground after doing so. As he stumbled to his saddlebags to retrieve the wineskin, the other man asked,

"Will she live?"

"I don't – don't know," was the gasping response. When he gestured, his hands shook so much that he spilled some of the wine. "Elves are strong, but even they cannot endure abuse like this with impunity. If I knew more about healing, I might be able to revive her, but…" Another helpless gesture served as a conclusion to the sentence.

Seeing Murtagh's concern for the elf and realizing how rash he had been to judge his apparent care for her, Eragon looked over to the solitary, still-motionless figure in the shadows.

"Murtagh…" He hesitated. "We should check Tricia – I mean Nora – too. I think the Shade tortured her as well."

Murtagh was stiff as a board as he fetched and carried the woman into the open, knelt beside her, and lifted her into a sitting position against him. He seemed guilty about forgetting about her.

Tenderly and hesitantly, he took hold of her wrist and pulled back the dirty white sleeve. Thankfully, there were only a few small black and purple bruises on Nora's delicate forearm. It was nothing serious, Eragon noted offhandedly, simply assuming that those insignificant marks were examples of her overall state. He was wrong.

When Murtagh unlaced the top of her neckline and uncovered her shoulders and upper back, the Rider understood the incomparable rage reflected in the other man's brown eyes.

While her general condition wasn't quite as shocking as with the elf (probably from a less prolonged stay in the prison), it still curdled one's blood. Wounds, both fresh and healing, crisscrossed each other in a brown, muddled mess of cruel lash marks and knife cuts across her back. However, not even these torments (which seemed to cover most of her torso) were the worst of her injuries. While the bulk of her tortures were nothing compared to that of the elf, there was one that sent shivers down Eragon's spine.

With a thin blade of some sort, someone had carved the word _wyrda_ or 'fate' into her right shoulder – each letter was jaggedly scrawled at least half an inch high. The horrid thing was at least a few days old, the skin around it was red and puckered, and it was clearly becoming infected.

"Can you heal this?" Murtagh demanded harshly.

Still faint and weak from healing the elf, Eragon shook his head.

"I…I don't think so. I need to eat and rest and…"

"Just _heal_ it! She doesn't need her fate to be forced before her again."

"You know what _wyrda_ means?"

"Yes, you told me."

"Fine."

Eragon knew that wasn't true. He never told Murtagh what _wyrda_ meant, but he didn't have the strength to argue; instead, he reluctantly hobbled over and knelt beside the girl. Once he magically knit the supposedly damning word from her flesh and collapsed into a slump, he continued to stare. Even though he had healed the infected lettering, there was still a nasty scar there, even wider than the former apparent cut had been. There were other nasty gashes to be healed, but they could wait a little. Murtagh answered his unasked question, though he remained focused on Nora's bloodless face.

"That's not the first time someone claimed her future."

"That's it!" Eragon fumed with a croak. "I am sick and tired of you dancing around my questions. I know that you know this girl. My question is: How?"

For a moment, Murtagh didn't answer, concentrating on re-lacing Nora's stained blouse and replacing her on the ground.

"She and I...we practically grew up together. Aside from Tornac, she was the only true friend I ever had. We have a lot of…history."

The statement made Eragon's eyebrows crawl up his skull.

"History? What sort of history?"

Murtagh sat back on his haunches and blankly stared into the distance.

"History."

* * *

><p>"<em>He cries in the corner where nobody sees<br>He's the kid with the story no one would believe  
>He prays every night, Dear God won't you please<br>Could you send someone here who will love me?_

_Who will love me for me_  
><em>Not for what I have done or what I will become<em>  
><em>Who will love me for me<em>  
><em>Cause nobody has shown me what love<em>  
><em>What love really means." –JJ Heller<em>

* * *

><p>It puzzled him. Why was Eragon so curious about Nora, yet leave Murtagh's secret past untouched by inquiry? – so far. Why had Nora pretended to be fine in the jail, only to collapse the moment he left her sight? Why and how did she hide something like those injuries? On the other hand, Nora had always been disinclined to show any weakness. But why didn't she tell him about what the Shade had done to her? He would have forced Eragon to help her right there and then.<p>

Maybe that was the point. She knew him just as well as he knew her. He knew that she hated doing anything to hurt him; she knew that he couldn't stand seeing her suffer. Only they knew those faults. It had to stay that way. That was why it was so difficult to decipher what to say. They had always walked a line on their mutual understanding and the hostility of an uncaring, cruel world.

"_Come on, Murtagh! We don't want to be late!" _

"_We're late already," the thirteen-year-old boy growled, scrubbing his short, unkempt hair with his hands. _

_He was an average-looking young teenage boy, overall; but he was well-built from training over the past few years, sturdy, and much less jovial than the other lads his age. He didn't run around outside the castle playing games, didn't find most practical jokes funny, and was unnaturally reclusive…for the average boy. _

_Normally, he would be on time for his practice with Tornac, his trainer; however, thanks to Nora's before-dawn insistence on sneaking through the lower levels of the palace, including the dungeon, they were going to be late for the first time in a year…maybe the second. It really wasn't all her fault though. She had indeed suggested the venture, but he had jumped at the idea with both feet. Now, he was dreading what Tornac would have to say._

_Nora, jogging down the gigantic, shady hall a little ways ahead, turned back to look at Murtagh's troubled, stormy expression and grinned with almost perfect teeth – except for her right top canine that slanted in a little. Her braided, shoulder-length hair, escaping bountifully from the tie on the end and the band around her head, was caught on her shoulder. Giggling at him, Nora toyed with her bushy black curls. She was pretty and petite, but she escaped any of Murtagh's boyish impatience for girls with her contagious sense of adventure and love for action._

"_We can still get there on time if we just run across the courtyard and past the stables rather than going all the way through the gardens. There's a meeting of sorts going on, but I'm sure we can sneak through. Tornac will never know that we were ever going to be late." _

_At the mention of the courtyard, the boy's annoyance was replaced by anxiety. He avoided the courtyard, the court, the throne room, and everything to do with the king and his minions like a plague. He didn't want to get involved with them. He wanted nothing to do with what his _father_ had helped to create._

"_Let's…just go the long way. I'm sure Tornac will understand."_

"_He'll understand as much as an angry bear. Besides, it was my fault, anyway."_

_Murtagh shook his head instantly._

"_It was my fault too."_

"_Are you bent on getting a switching like a seven-year-old? I know exactly how we can get through the courtyard and it will be perfectly painless!"_

"_You can go. I'm going the long way."_

"_But…oh." Finally, she seemed to get it. She remembered that, while Murtagh tried to put a bold, stubborn face on it, he wanted nothing to do with the castle he lived in – feared it more than anything. The points of pompous royalty only reminded him that he was more of a prisoner than an orphan in the dismissive care of the court. _

_Smiling understandingly, she went back to where he stood and looked around with grim distaste. The hallway, dark and lit by only a few torches in the barely-existing dawn light, was a perfect sample of the incredible stifling formality of the palace. Suits of armor, portraits of dragons and bloody battles, and dusty tapestries spoke of a rotting reign that had no foreseeable end. This was no place for children to be growing up. And there was no way to escape the oppressive sense of danger._

"_On the other hand," Nora offered, "there _is_ this bush in the far corner of No One's garden that I found last year… It's hollow in the middle and makes the perfect hiding place. We can just blow off our lessons for the day. Nobody ever goes to that part of the gardens anymore."_

"_Are you sure you want to go to No One's garden?"_

"_When you can't find me, that's usually where I am."_

"_Why there?"_

_Her grin was twisted with mixed pain and sarcasm._

"_Do you honestly have to ask, Murtagh?"_

No One's garden. That had just been a nickname for part of the royal gardens they snuck around in all the time. It _had_ been a private garden, and it was still maintained, since he had been there last. But no one ever used it as a private garden anymore. So, it had become the children's favorite playground.

On that day, Tornac had been furious about the drop-out. As a result, Murtagh and Nora spent nearly all of the next day cleaning out his private stable and his four prized horses. Nora had been called away before midday for a lesson of her own, but she had been a sight – splattered with manure, straw in her hair, and smelling like a horse.

It hadn't been the same after she left.

Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed this bit! And feel free to give any possible suggestions!

PS. I am considering eventually adding one or two extra characters to this story. If any of my lovely reviewers would care to have an OC based on them (hint, hint), I would love to send you some profile questions when I get the chance.

Musically Yours,

formerAnnie


	8. Just Friends

Many thanks to those who reviewed! :)

"_If the night turned cold  
>And the stars looked down<br>And you hug yourself  
>On the cold cold ground<br>You wake the morning  
>In a stranger's coat<br>No-one would you see  
>You ask yourself, 'Who'd watch for me?'<br>My only friend, who could it be?  
>It's hard to say it<br>I hate to say it  
>But it's probably me." -Sting<em>

Just Friends

Nora awoke to the smell of a soft, rolled up cloak beneath her head. The well-worn, minutely scratchy fabric was momentarily the most comforting object in the world. The scent was warm, musky, and woodsy – a sort of scent she had always loved. In the middle of breathing deeply in relief at being alive, however, she cringed as pain shot through her body. Reaching to feel her back, she was mildly surprised to find no blemishes but the old ones. _Someone_ had found her little scrapes and healed them.

Looking up at the blotchy sky, she guessed that it was some time before dawn. Strangely enough, no one was in the camp, except…

Ignoring the pain, Nora shot into a crouch and scrambled for the dagger in her boot, ready to use it. Practically laying right next to her was an unconscious elf with an angular, fierce face and a slim figure, dressed in black leather. But it wasn't just any elf. It was _that_ elf. The one who had caused Nora to be feared throughout her realm. The one who would take any chance possible to murder her. And, at this moment, no one was around to watch. Arya the pompous princess was at the mercy of the girl she had turned into an enemy, though Nora had done nothing to provoke her except live.

Her natural self-defense instinct had set in. It was a dragon-eat-dragon world. Crawling over to where the other woman was laid out on a blanket, Nora twirled the knife between her fingers. Only a few more inches and that pretty swan's throat would be given a little color…only a few more inches.

But something stopped her. For the first time since their original meeting, she really got a good look at the elven princess. She seemed different now, now that she wasn't glaring and hissing insults and threats. Her face, relaxed and calm, was no longer hostile and menacing. Now, she had no defense against Nora. If she did this, it would be murder. But the blade was so close! If she did it, she wouldn't have to worry about the elves…at least that one. The rest would be out for her blood.

Hesitantly, Nora dragged the knife away, scraping it in the dirt with her reluctance, and replaced it in her boot. Part of her wanted to rip the elf to shreds even as she slept, and the chance was there. The other part 'tsked' forbiddingly. Her mother had taught her better than that. She was always ready to fight for her life and honor (what honor there was), but she couldn't murder for it. That was one thing she could never do. Not cold-blooded murder without decent reason.

Sitting back again, the girl sniffed a laugh. Arya had no idea that her chosen enemy had just spared her life. And she would never know. She _could_ never know.

Suddenly, the wind shifted a little. A sweet, fetid odor rushed into her unnaturally sensitive nostrils, causing her to snort and look around for the source. When she realized that the only probably source was herself, she grabbed her bag and followed the sound of rushing water as quickly as possible.

* * *

><p>Finished scouting, Murtagh crept past the camp and to the river, where he stopped in a rocky clearing and watched the effects of the breeze on the rushing water. He shivered a little, having turned his cloak into a pillow for Nora.<p>

He _thought_ he was alone. However, the disembodied voice of a sweet-sounding female floated past the rippling water and proved him wrong.

"How I ever allowed myself to get into this state is beyond me. If my mother had ever seen me like this, she would have had a fit." He looked around for the girl and discovered Nora's satchel and weapons at the edge of the river. The shocking part was what was _on top of _the bag: boots, trousers, a white blouse, and a corset vest. "And my father would have ripped me to shreds." Small splashes made his stomach churn. "And what would Tricia have said? Ooh! To be clean!" The bushes were rustling. "And to think that I was in that state in front of M…"

The voice cut short.

Slowly, Murtagh looked to the left. There, with hair sopping wet from the river water, was Nora – with nothing but a blanket wrapped around her torso to cover her well-formed frame. The girl didn't seem to show any distress from her situation (other than her eyes being as wide and round as tree trunks), but Murtagh fought the growing heat in his cheeks as he looked back at the water to allow her to go back into the bushes and get actual clothes on.

It only took Nora a few moments to reemerge, fully clothed and armed. Murtagh nodded in silent approval. She had changed attire for another pair of black trousers, her boots, a plain brown, button-up shirt with the top three hooks undone, and a black stiff, sleeveless corset vest, much like her previous one. Her daggers were likely already hidden away about her person, her quiver was slung across her back, her broadsword sat against her left hip in its unembellished ebony holder, and she held the bow against the uneven ground, resting her chin on its top. Her curly hair was still wet, but she had temporarily contained that in a braid.

"Who healed me?" she questioned simply.

"The Rider," was his candid answer.

"Which river is this?"

"The Ramr."

Just then, Eragon emerged from the trees behind them, his eyes full of wary relief. Nora's lips thinned into a fine line, but she wasn't really fazed at all.

* * *

><p>"Eragon, how did you find me?"<p>

"What?"

"How did you know I was in that particular prison?"

"You weren't our actual original reason for being there," the boy guiltily said, suspicion not touching his voice. "Brom had had a contact in Gilead who knew how to get to the Varden…"

"What do you mean by 'had'?" she interrupted. Her concern was touching, but surprising since she had never had any love for the former Rider.

"He…died soon after you were taken." He quickly moved on with his former subject so as to avoid letting the memory of Brom's death catch up with him. "Before we could meet this contact, we were attacked, I was captured, and Murtagh here came to the rescue. If not for him spotting you, you would still be in there."

Murtagh shrugged, eyes flicking towards Eragon with an unreadable expression as he added,

"He was the one who insisted on saving the elf. You're lucky that you were right across the way from her."

Tricia…Nora…what's-her-name looked at the man with an equally unreadable look, her left hand squeezing the hilt of her sword until the knuckles went white. After simply nodding her head to the man, she suddenly turned on Eragon.

"What were you thinking?" she snapped. "You could have gotten yourself killed with that breakout attempt."

"Attempt! We succeeded!" Eragon defended. "A simple 'thank you' would suffice."

"Well, you're not getting it, you beer-brained chicken foot."

Murtagh simply stared at her with his mouth slightly turned up at the corners. Eragon couldn't believe it. He had saved her from a Shade and all she could do was berate him!

"I was already captured, and we were already rescuing the elf when we found you. Or would you _rather_ still be in that prison?"

"Oh." Defeated and realizing that she had no ground to continue ranting, Nora stared at the nearby water, obviously exhausted and in pain. He was shocked that she didn't pass out right then. And how did she have the strength to go through the pains of bathing? Why did she bother when she didn't even smell that bad? "I'm sorry, Eragon. But you are the only free Dragon Rider that can potentially stand against Galbatorix. Many people have no hope of freedom as it is; if the king has you in his grasp, no one will have any hope." Eragon wasn't satisfied and his face showed it. "If you don't believe me, go into any city, town, or village and see the difference when they find out that there's a new hope for an end to tyranny. Eventually, they will know of you."

The Rider shook his head.

"How can I believe anything you say after you lied to me all that time we were supposedly friends? Is your name really 'Nora'?"

"It's a shortening of my real name, yes. But it was still a foolish thing to come to Gil'ead. Do you realize that the Shade was asking about both of you?"

He just rolled his eyes and ignored the subject. Of course he was curious as to why Murtagh was on the run, but he trusted him and had learned not to pry into that subject. Nora was a different matter. She had deceived him about her identity from day one. She had given the appearance of truth, Murtagh didn't bother to hide the fact that he had secrets. Or maybe, since he now had secrets of his own, Eragon was able to relate to Murtagh more.

"Who are you, Nora? Why did you come to my village? And how did you just happen to be in Dras-Leona when the Ra'zac attacked?"

The woman's fiery attitude suddenly went back to inscrutable calmness.

"I am someone who loves freedom, and I think others should have the same chance. I have spoken no oaths in my life but one, even under the threat of torture. I came to your village for safety and quiet. And I have my own reasons for tracking you."

With the excitement worn off, the girl sat down with her bow resting on her crossed legs and muttered something about having to travel with 'the elf'. But then, she looked up at Murtagh, who was standing closer to her now.

Eragon suddenly felt awkward when Nora reached up and grasped Murtagh's motionless hand. He started walking back to camp, but vaguely heard the lady's sighing voice say,

"You're here."

* * *

><p>After the excitement of Nora's awakening, crossing the Ramr River, and finally catching sight of the boiling Hadarac Desert, the travelers had settled down to a small fire, a roasted rabbit Eragon had managed to catch, and rest. They would only be able to sleep for a few hours that night, unfortunately. Murtagh, at that moment, was scouting the area one more time before retiring.<p>

Then there was Nora's reaction to the elf. As soon as they all returned from the creek, she had stood over the lifeless woman's body, fondly stroking the hilt of her sword. Saphira assured him that she wouldn't do anything rash, but he wasn't so confident that the former egg-seller wouldn't try slitting someone's throat in the night. Murtagh didn't seem to notice the behavior much, other than a cautious glance when he was putting wood on the fire. Did the ladies have a history of bad blood between them? Maybe they had met each other in battle. Maybe they had fought over lovers at some point. Maybe they were related.

"**Doubtful, little one,"** Saphira opinionated, humming in amusement. **"True, they both have the black hair, but their appearances are otherwise quite different; on top of that, Nora doesn't even have the pointed ears."**

"**Thank you, that's really helpful," **was the sarcastic reply. **"I just can't imagine what would make Nora hate her so much. And, in the prison, I heard the Shade threatening to let them at each other's throats, practically. What could have caused such enmity? I doubt that threat would have meant much in their condition unless they really hated each other."**

"**I do not know the answers to these questions. Perhaps you should consider asking Nora."**

"**You seem to trust her a lot, all things considered."**

"**She did seem to save your life and nearly die in the process…all things considered. Plus…I talked to her before she was taken. She is on our side, but she likewise does not have complete faith in **_**you**_**. And, frankly, I can't blame her. I was not allowed far into her mind, but I sensed much pain, sorrow, and mistrust. Whatever her origins, she has lived through much and deserves the chance to prove herself. Ask her. Earn her trust."**

"**All right. But, if she blasts me across the Empire, I'm blaming you."**

Ignoring the dragon's chortling, Eragon shifted to face the girl, who was a couple feet away, stretched out on her side and staring at the crackling little fire. It took him a second of observing how her eyes seemed to mirror the smoke trickling from the flames to finally whisper,

"Nora?" She didn't respond, but Saphira urged him on. "Why do you hate the elf?"

There was no facial or emotional reaction of any kind, but the woman did finally answer.

"I don't hate the elf."

"But what about Durza's threat to let her kill you, and the way were you handling your blade earlier? Don't tell me you two don't have a feud of some sort."

"When I left Carvahall, I tried to save her from being captured. She refused."

"But why would she refuse when the alternative was torture and death at the hands of the Empire? And why would you care so much to put an actual effort into trying to save her or contemplate killing her?"

"**Careful, Eragon,"** Saphira warned, but Eragon refused to apologize. He felt he had the right to know.

Nora's pretty face hardened, but she didn't seem inclined to throw him halfway across the nation.

"When I first left home, she and I had a…confrontation. I was seeking shelter with the elves (soon before I came to Carvahall), and I nearly made it to Osilon (one of their cities) when _she_ came along…as well as a dozen archers. She recognized me, and, against that many, I didn't have a chance. If not for one of the other elves' interference, she would have executed me on the spot. Ultimately, I was escorted to the edge of their land. With nowhere to turn to, I settled in your village. So yes, we have a feud. If I don't kill her, it's likely that she will kill me."

"Is that something I have to watch for?"

Nora smiled a little, still looking at the fire.

"I am not the type to kill a helpless woman. But, if it comes down to it, I will kill her before she kills me. I don't take kindly to people who have my fate planned for me."

"Why did she want to kill you? Who are you? What could be so horrible? Are you the king's daughter or something?"

"My father isn't even king of his own mind."

"And what about Murtagh? It's obvious that you know each other. Are you…brother and sister?"

"That…is a conversation for another time."

She closed her eyes with a pained expression as Eragon gave up and turned away, exhausted. He wouldn't get any more out of her until she was ready.

But that wasn't the end of the night's events.

Only a few minutes later, Murtagh returned from scouting, silently sat on his bedroll, and joined Nora in watching the sparks flying out of the fire. Eragon remained faced away, pretending to be asleep when they finally spoke to each other, their voices almost too even to be natural. Murtagh started the conversation when the girl was unable to contain a quiet moan.

"Are you all right?"

"I was just tortured by a Shade and that _boy_ hardly knows a half-penny's worth of healing. Of course I'm all right," she deadpanned. "You were late."

Murtagh chuckled grimly.

"You disappeared. You're lucky I stumbled across you at all."

"That was the point. If you do recall, I enchanted that hawk to find me wherever I was when you released it. Or did you forget to send your message?"

"I did send it, but the hawk was killed by one of the king's magicians before it got far."

"Oh." Emotion finally seeped into her voice – sad and regretful. "It was a noble animal."

"It was."

For a moment, there was silence. Eragon thought that they had gone to sleep, until the staggered conversation started up again.

"I missed you, Murtagh." Saphira would tell him later that, at that point, Nora shifted next to the man and leaned her head on his shoulder. "How was Tornac when you last saw him?"

"He was killed when I escaped."

Another long pause.

"Aside from him, you were alone."

Another mirthless laugh.

"I had the good ol' slavedriver whispering sweet horrors into my ear about his dream Empire and your old friend chasing me around."

"Then you were alone. But no longer. Murtagh, I've told you this before, but now I mean it: I'll stand by you no matter what. Remember that."

"How touching."

"We don't feel that way. Recall?"

He sighed and chuckled.

"All too clearly."

From then on, the silence lasted throughout the night. While Eragon now knew that they definitely had quite a bit of history, he was more confused than ever. It was like hearing the punchline without knowing what the initial joke was.


	9. Conflict Theory

I feel so horrible for not updating in so long, but I am taking 18 college credits and I'm a music major...for those of you who are not familiar, music majors have one of the most crammed schedules, thanks to choirs, lessons, practice, and all of those 'little 1-credit' classes.

Anyway, I hope this chapter satisfies you for a little while, as I likely will not be able to post again until my next break.

Conflict Theory

Nora turned away as Eragon once more grimaced in pain as he tried to contact Arya with his mind. She knew what he was suffering, but felt no pity. She knew how ruthless that elf could be and it was about time the Rider had a little wake-up call from his fantasies of that prim demon's true nature. When he figured a way out of this situation, he will have learned that a barking dog is better than a biting one.

"Nora, are you sure he's all right?"

The girl turned back to look at a concerned Murtagh, then Eragon, who now had sweat pouring down his face.

"He'll be fine. If the elf has gotten any wiser since we last met, she won't kill him."

"Somehow, that's not very encouraging."

A growl from above announced Saphira's concurrence. Shaking her head, the lady completed the triangle around the senseless boy by kneeling in front of him on the other side of Arya.

After some time of suspenseful watching, Eragon finally snapped back to reality with a shuddering gasp.

"Are you all right?" Murtagh persisted, showing a surprising amount of concern. Maybe these men did build the brotherly bond Eragon had claimed. "You've been kneeling there for almost fifteen minutes."

"I have?" was the response.

"**Yes, and grimacing like a pained gargoyle,"** Saphira grimly projected.

"I talked with Arya!" While Nora knew what he was talking about, of course, Murtagh only gave a questioning frown. "The elf – that's her name."

"**And what is it that ails her?"**

Eragon quickly summarized his conversation: Arya had been poisoned during her captivity and the only antidote was either found with the elves or the Varden; then, she showed him where to find the latter.

"How far away are the Varden?" asked Murtagh.

"I'm not exactly sure," was the confession. "From what she showed me, I think it's even farther than from here to Gil'ead."

"And we're supposed to cover that in three or four days? It took us five _long_ days to get here! What do you want us to do, kill the horses? They're exhausted as it is."

"But if we do nothing, she'll die! If it's too much for the horses, Saphira can fly ahead with Arya and me; at least we would get to the Varden in time. You two could catch up with us in a few days."

Murtagh grunted, unsatisfied as he folded his arms.

"Of course. Murtagh the pack animal. Murtagh the horse leader. I should have remembered that's all I'm good for nowadays. Oh. And let's not forget, every soldier in the Empire is searching for now because you couldn't defend yourself, and I had to go and _save_ you. Yes, I suppose I'll just follow your instructions and bring up the horses in the rear like a good servant."

Both Eragon and Nora gaped in shock at the sudden show of such venom.

"What's wrong with you? I'm grateful for what you did. There's no reason to be angry with me! I didn't ask you to accompany me or to rescue me from Gil'ead. You chose that. I haven't forced you to do anything."

"Oh, not openly, no. What else could I do but help you with the Ra'zac? And then later, at Gil'ead, how could I have left with a clear conscience? The problem with you," the older boy continued, poking a finger into Eragon's chest, "is that you're so totally helpless you force everyone to take care of you!"

"Murtagh!" Nora snipped, at last getting fed up with the man's sudden lack of control. He looked at the girl, who, stoking the fire, stabbed at the flames with the stick she held and provoked a great crackling mass of sparks to shoot up and reflect in her storm-cloud eyes. "During this entire venture, starting with Gil'ead, I haven't exactly been very helpful either. You can't blame Eragon for every slip-up."

"At least you have a good excuse. You managed to evade the Empire for a good three years. This _Dragon Rider_," he snarled, stabbed his finger at Eragon again, "couldn't do that for even a year!"

"Don't touch me!" the Rider growled back, clearly recognizing the plain fact that the person who had outdone him, a Dragon Rider, he had once known as a farm girl.

Murtagh laughed harshly.

"Or what, you'll punch me? You couldn't hit a brick wall." His third attempt at a shove resulted in Eragon punching him in the stomach. A string of curses flew from his mouth as he doubled over…before full-out tackling his companion.

Nora unceremoniously grabbed Arya under the arms and dragged her out of the way as soon as she sensed the danger of the brawling males. Dropping the elf face-down by a growling Saphira's feet, she folded her arms disapprovingly. A couple of ill-placed kicks had sent the fire smoking and spitting out sparks…rather fitting for the mood.

"**Can you do something?"** Saphira snarled.

"I wish I could, my wise companion," Nora replied, lips twitching as Eragon landed a hit on Murtagh's face...so foolish. "Under normal circumstances, I would lift them three feet off the ground and switch them both with a good solid stick until they saw sense…but I don't want to risk using magic right now. A fool would do it, but I value my own life more than saving those bovine-brains a few bruises."

The dragon growled again before stepping around the women and slapping her tail down between the two charging bulls.

"**Enough!"** she cried, snatching both men with her clawed paws and pinning them to the ground. They struggled, but she only roared and snapped some more before settling her burning eyes on Eragon. **"You of all people should know better! Fighting like starving dogs over a scrap of meat. What would Brom say?" **She then proceeded to demand politeness and for her Rider to ask Murtagh what was wrong.

"**Won't you let us up?"**

"**No."**

Why did Saphira allow Nora to hear her mental dialogue, but require a mouthpiece in relating to Murtagh, mostly?

She ignored the pang in her chest when she noticed the blood trickling from Murtagh's split lip.

"Well," the older boy said, staring stubbornly at the sky, "is she going to get off us?"

"No," was the unwilling reply, "not unless we talk… She wants me to ask you what's really the problem."

Saphira interrogating gaze didn't really give any choice in the matter, especially when there was only a muttering response at first. Nora actually almost interrupted right then. How far would this conversation go?

"I told you before: I don't want to go to the Varden."

"Don't want to…or can't?"

Another attempt to peel Saphira's arm away was relented with more curses.

"Don't want to! They'll expect things from me that I can't deliver."

"Did you steal something from them?"

"I wish it were that simple," he muttered, glancing at an inscrutably gazing Nora.

Eragon was obviously getting frustrated with the cryptic answers.

"Well, what is it, then? Did you kill someone important or bed the wrong woman?"

Nora snorted disgust at the thought.

"No, I was born."

With that response, Saphira finally allow the males to stand, though they eyed each other warily as they each nursed a bloodied lip.

"You're avoiding the question."

"So what?" Murtagh barked, stomping to the edge of the camp. Nora's eyebrows furrowed together. She hated seeing him like this.

"Nora." Her eyes snapped to the other boy. "You know him. Can't _you _at least enlighten me a little?"

A sad shake of the head was his only answer.

"It doesn't matter why I'm in this predicament, but I can tell you that the Varden wouldn't welcome me even if I came bearing the king's head. Oh, they might greet me nicely enough and let me into their councils, but trust me? Never. And if I were to arrive under less fortuitous circumstances, like the present ones, they'd likely clap me in irons."

"Won't you tell me what this is about? I've done things I'm not proud of, too, so it's not as if I'm going to pass judgment."

Murtagh locked eyes with the woman across the campfire, his eyes glistening a little more than usual.

"It isn't like that. I haven't _done_ anything to deserve this treatment, though it would have been easier to atone for if I had. No…my only wrongdoing is existing in the first place." For a moment, Nora didn't think he would go on, but he continued after a moment. "You see, my father…"

A hiss from Saphira cut him off. Only about a league away was a long column of Urgal troops.

"It's the Empire," Eragon sighed. "They've found us…somehow."

"Yes…but those are Urgals, not men."

"How can you tell?" Murtagh pointed out the troops' standard and his previous experience with them. That sent Eragon scrambling to put out the fire. "We have to flee! You don't want to go to the Varden, but I have to take Arya to them before she dies. Here's a compromise: come with me until I reach the lake Kostha-merna, then go your own way. If you leave now, in sight of the column, Urgals will follow you. And then where will you be, facing them alone?"

"Very well, but when we near the Varden, I _will _leave."

As Nora quickly saddled her horse as mounted, Eragon rode up beside her and asked,

"Are you going to leave me too?"

She rolled her eyes. The boy just wouldn't learn.

"Another time!"

…and she and Murtagh trotted off together into the night.

* * *

><p>"You're not the easiest person I ever got to know<br>And it's hard for us both to let our feelings show  
>Some would say<br>I should let you go your way  
>You'll only make me cry<br>If there's one guy, just one guy  
>Who'd lay down his life for you and die<br>I hate to say it  
>I hate to say it<br>But it's probably me."  
>-Sting<p>

* * *

><p>By morning, they had lost sight of the Urgals, but there were still some tensions among the fugitive ranks. Nora had barely said anything during the argument of that night, but the way she had stared at Murtagh…it wasn't shock or distrust – it was understanding and pity.<p>

His suspicions were rising higher than ever. He had _trusted_ these people! But before he could go accusing them of misleading him again, Saphira suggested breaking the ice with something a little more tactful. He couldn't help the tightness in his voice.

"Nora, what is your horse's name? It's a fine animal and you never told me before."

Nora raised an eyebrow at the odd question. While she was indeed a beautiful girl, especially compared to the old spinster she had used as a disguise, she looked plain compared to Arya. She was pretty, but not particularly exotic. She was stealthy and graceful and held herself high, but some of her actions were far from dainty or careful to any extent.

Often enough, if their was something in her way, she was more likely to walk right through it than go around it; it was like she had a mild death wish. Before the Hadarac Desert took most of the foliage, she ran through a pile of brambles the others had skirted around, coming out with half-a-million scratches and almost seeming disappointed. And then there was that scar. Who would, as Murtagh put it, claim her future like that? – carving the word _fate_ into her flesh like a branded cow.

"Her name is Tricia. Where do you think I got that name?"

"You lied to me," he grumbled, looking down at his companions. "You both did."

Murtagh and Nora, walking side-by-side with their horses in tow, did their now usual exchange of looks.

"Did I?" the once more impassive man queried, staring ahead.

"Yes. You did."

"No, I didn't. You asked before if I _happened_ to know Nora (whom you referred to as 'Tricia') or if I had _heard_ of her. I did not _happen_ to her, nor did I simply _hear_ of her. I in fact knew her through very specific circumstances; and I never hear about her…she's too good at hiding for that."

Neither that nor Nora's pleased chuckled amused Eragon. From what he had seen, it was unlikely that she could be _that_ cautious. But then, the Empire didn't catch her for practically three years, supposedly. How she hid in Carvahall for so long was beyond him.

"And you, Nora… Why did you lie about your name all that time?"

The question caused an abrupt halt to the girl's mirth.

"I..." she began, pausing to remount her silvery steed. "The rumors weren't totally off about me being a rich man's daughter running from a no-option circumstance and being a fugitive. My father is a powerful and…stubborn man. Nutty as a squirrel hoarding nuts and as blind to his daughter's movements as a bat in daylight. I have no regrets for leaving and no intention of going back. Only one thing would make me even look at him again…and that will never happen…_will_ it Murtagh?"

Murtagh smirked; however, Saphira crushed any hope of further pursuance of the topic by announcing her need to hunt.

Having transferred Arya onto Snowfire, Eragon ended up on the ground with Murtagh until they finally needed to stop and water the horses.

* * *

><p>"I believe<br>This is heaven to no one else but me  
>And I'll defend it as long as I can be<br>Left here to linger in silence  
>If I choose to<br>Would you try to understand"  
>-Sarah McLachlan<p>

* * *

><p>It pained Nora to lie to Eragon. He was the first person in a long time, despite his constant idiocy, who actually made her want to make a friend. But, if he knew – if the last free Dragon Rider knew – who else would find out? Who would pull the strings of his loyalties to convince him that she wasn't worth protecting? Murtagh knew the pain of despising one's own upbringing – and blood. Only he could ever truly understand.<p>

Splashing the clear pond water onto her sunburned face, she spotted _his_ reflection staring down at her.

"You don't plan to go all the way to the Varden with the boy, do you?"

Murtagh crouched down beside her and worked on filling his water skin as he replied.

"Of course not. I would be treated like a prisoner-of-war, if they didn't instantly kill me; and, even if they realized I wasn't their enemy, they would never trust me. You should be more careful, though." Nora sighed at the last statement and moved her hand away from the black and purple water snake only a few inches away. "Why have you been so…irrational, lately?"

"I avoided getting pummeled by you last night, didn't I?"

He snorted at the reminder.

"You know what I mean."

"What if they find me, Murtagh? What if they take me alive and find some way to make me talk? I know so many things; if they got into the wrong hands, it could mean victory for Galbatorix."

"What could you possibly know that I don't?"

Poor Murtagh. The years since their last meeting…so much had happened.

"Murtagh…I know where the elven city of Osilon is; I know what the elves secret is to keeping the king out of the forest, and their armament; I know where the Varden are; and I know my own true name. Isn't that enough?"

"Not even close. I'll make a deal with you: You stay alive, and I'll stay alive."

Nora couldn't help but blush when his dark, brooding eyes bored into her own. In the middle of nodding her agreement, Nora looked up and spotted a distant figure on a hill. Both runners stood simultaneously and drew their swords. Whoever the newcomer was, he was bringing nothing but trouble. Still, the woman couldn't help but wonder at her friend's hand-and-a-half sword. She had always loved it: Murtagh's signature weapon.

Seeing their sudden movement, Eragon joined them in confusion until he saw what they were watching.

And, soon, twenty more riders joined the stranger. Nobody moved.

"Could they be the Varden?" Murtagh asked, raising an eyebrow when Nora shook her head with a negative.

"According to Arya, they're still scores of leagues away. This might be one of their patrols or raiding groups," the other young man pointed out, stringing his bow.

"Assuming they're not bandits." As he mounted Tornac, Nora noted the Dragon Rider concealing the elf with a blanket before hopping smoothly onto Tricia. The truth of the original Tricia was that she had been the wife of Tornac, Murtagh's trainer; before dying in childbirth, she was Nora's nursemaid for several years after her mother died. Just like her namesake, the horse was muscular, fearless, firm, and quick, willing to both run or stand and fight.

"Should we try to outrun them?"

"It wouldn't do any good. Tornac and Snowfire are fine war-horses, but they're tired, and they aren't sprinters. Look at the horses those men have; they're meant for running, just like Tricia. They would catch us before we had gone a half-mile. Besides, they may have something important to say. You'd better tell Saphira to hurry back. Nora, if they prove themselves dangerous, set Tricia on a gallop and don't stop for anything."

"No, I'll fight," the woman countered, forcing herself to sit high. With their panicked flight, the residual effects of her tortures had been catching up to her.

"And kill yourself in the process. You're in no condition to fight, yet." Nora opened her mouth to argue. She couldn't leave the men to fight while she ran. She loved her life, but there were certain exceptions. "You know I'm right." Her mouth clicked shut and her head snapped to face the horsemen.

Nervously shifting, Eragon offered,

"If they threaten us, _I_ can _frighten_ them away with magic. If that doesn't work, there's Saphira. I wonder how they'd react to a Rider? So many stories have been told about their powers… It might be enough to avoid a fight."

Nora stiffened at his humane persistence. If they were with the Empire and were allowed to escape, they would bring stories back to the king and his minions about their position. It was like her situation before with Arya. The elf had already done damage; these strangers could spread their location, descriptions, and who-knew what else about them to the Empire. However much she dreaded the elves, she was _running _from the Empire. Stupid boy.

"Don't count on it. If there's a fight, we'll just have to kill enough of them to convince them we're not worth the effort." His voice was controlled and enigmatic, but at least he was of like mind.

With a signal from the mounted leader, the strangers charged down the hill at a canter, whooping loudly and shaking javelins over their heads. As they got closer, four of them training arrows at the fugitives, they could see how rusted and worn their weaponry was. Whoever they were, they weren't Imperial, though Nora had doubts when they strategically encircled the smaller group. …even more so when the leader came forward with his arms crossed and eyeballing them like prized hounds. Suddenly, she was feeling rather nauseous.

* * *

><p>"Well, these are better than the usual dregs we find! At least we got healthy ones this time (though the lady looks a little pale). And we didn't even have to shoot them. Grieg will be pleased."<p>

Murtagh's eyes shot suspiciously around as the men chuckled. Something was wrong with the situation.

"Nora…" he began, ready to tell her to break and run.

"No," she snipped, swiveling her sword wrist and causing a few of the men to sneer.

Hoping to spook the lady's horse, Murtagh bumped Tornac against Tricia. He gave up, however, when he finally realized the stubbornness of both females and their tight situation. The leader noticed his actions and 'tsk'ed before addressing the new victims.

"Now as for you three, if you would be so good as to drop your weapons, you'll avoid being turned into living quivers by my men."

Seeming to sense his master's protectiveness, Tornac shifted again towards the girls; however, Murtagh only shifted his sword arm before responding:

"Who are you and what do you want? We are free men traveling through this land. You have no right to stop us."

"Oh, I have every right. And as for my name, _slaves _do not address their masters in that manner, unless they want to be beaten." Slavers. If these men overpowered them, it would be worse than death. Slavery – losing control over your own fate – was one of Murtagh's greatest fears. He had no master but himself and he intended to keep it that way indefinitely. "Throw down your swords and surrender!"

No one moved, but suddenly one of the other slavers, having slipped into the travelers' midst, cast the blanket away from Arya's face and exclaimed,

"Torkenbrand, this one's an elf!"

Someone asked how much she was 'worth'.

"At the very least? Fortunes upon fortunes. The Empire will pay a mountain of gold for her!"

While the slavers hooted with pleasure, the leader moved in closer to the females. Nora, who had sheathed her sword in exchange for her boot dagger (a more fitting weapon for close combat), glared hatefully at him as he passed. She felt just as strongly about her freedom as Murtagh – only, she had suffered even closer oppression and enjoyed longer liberty than him, and intended to keep it.

When the slaver got too close, she lashed out. The girl succeeded in nicking his neck, but he had expected it, grabbing her wrists and slapping her back down onto his horse so that her petite body was twisted from her saddle to his. It was shocking how much her strength had been affected by captivity.

"Let…go of me," Nora huffed threateningly, her chest heaving and her curly hair spread out behind her.

"Perhaps I'll just keep you."

That was the last straw. At the same time that Eragon signaled for Saphira's arrival, Murtagh was already raising his sword to attack.

While Eragon scrambled away, getting ready to surprise the slavers with Saphira and his magic, Murtagh smashed his elbow into the face of the slaver near Arya and sent Tornac on a stomping rampage, while Nora head-butted her captor and landed a surprisingly impressive punch to his nose.

A split-second later, Eragon shot out a ball of fire and Saphira landed beside him, snarling and barring her massive fangs.

"Behold! I am a Rider!" the boy announced, pointing Zar'roc at the panicked attackers. "Flee if you wish to live!"

They complied instantly, shouting incoherently and scrambling over each other to get away. None of them paid any mind to their leader. In the confusion, Torkenbrand was struck in head with a stray javelin and he went sprawling, causing blood to spread in a crimson web across his face.

With all dangers gone, Eragon went to help Nora, who had fallen from her horse after punching the offensive slaver and had been able only to roll away from stomping hooves until then. Seeing Torkenbrand leering at his lady friend as he staggered to his knees, Murtagh approached the slaver, sword swinging.

The man raised his hand as if ward off the oncoming terror, but it was pointless. Seconds later, his head landed nearby with a hard thump.

"No!" Eragon screamed angrily.

* * *

><p>Glaring at Nora for her lack of a reaction, the enraged Rider rushed over to Murtagh.<p>

"Is your brain rotten? Why did you kill him?"

The other man calmly wiped his bloody weapon on the dead figure's jerkin.

"I don't see why you're so upset-"

"Upset!" exploded Eragon. "I'm well past that! Did it even occur to you that we could just leave him here and continue on our way? No! Instead you turn into an executioner and chop off his head. He was defenseless!"

Confusion crept through Eragon's just anger. Murtagh only seemed perplexed by his wrath. Nora blankly watched the two, slightly shaking her head. What was wrong with them?

"Well, we couldn't keep him around – he _was_ dangerous. The others ran off…without a horse he wouldn't have made it far. I didn't want the Urgals to find him and learn about Arya. So I thought I would –"

"But to _kill_ him?" he raged, baffled when even Saphira considered snapping up the disconnected head, though she simply sat beside her Rider in the end.

While Eragon was pondering these horrors, Murtagh walked back over to Nora, tenderly grasped her wrists, and examined them for bruises from Torkenbrand's grip. Their interaction was just…baffling. His actions continued even as he reacted to the accusations.

"I'm only trying to stay alive. No stranger's life is more important than my own."

"But you can't indulge in wanton violence. Where is your empathy?"

Murtagh turned to face him with fire back in his eyes. The parched sand crunched under his boots as he stormed toward the other boy.

"Empathy? Empathy? What empathy can I afford my enemies? Shall I dither about whether to defend myself because it will cause someone pain? If that had been the case, I would have died years ago! You must be willing to protect yourself and what you cherish, no matter what the cost."

Seeing how Nora only looked on with sympathy yet again, Eragon slammed Zar'roc into its scabbard, shaking his head viciously.

"You can't justify any atrocity with that reasoning."

"Do you think I enjoy this?" Murtagh shouted. "My life has been threatened from the day I was born! All of my waking hours have been spent avoiding danger in one form or another. And sleep never comes easily because I always worry if I'll live to see the dawn. If there ever was a time I felt secure, it must have been when I was in my mother's womb, though I wasn't safe even there! You don't understand – if you lived with this _fear_, you would have learned the same lesson I did: _Do not take chances_." He gestured toward the slaver's body. "He was a risk and a danger that I removed. I refuse to repent, and I won't plague myself over what is done and past."

Still burning with anger, Eragon shoved his face into that of his counterpart.

"It was still the wrong thing to do. Now, let's go."

After that, he refused to even look at Murtagh, going about re-strapping Arya to Saphira. He knew he was right: Killing innocent, defenseless people was simply wrong. But a part of him wondered why he was _so_ angry. Maybe the secrets were finally getting to him. What made Murtagh such a bitter, stoic person? And why was Nora so numb to his moral carelessness?

* * *

><p>After Eragon threateningly stuck his face into his companion's, Nora put a hand on Murtagh's shoulder and stepped in front of him. Her hand went to his broad chest when the focused man moved as if to follow the retreating Rider.<p>

"Don't," she whispered, looking back to make sure Eragon wasn't listening. "He doesn't understand. I actually couldn't have said it better myself."

"Are you all right?"

She shifted and looked away under his intense gaze, but met it when he gripped her shoulders.

"I'm fine. The slaver didn't hurt me; he just surprised me. It isn't every day that a man overpowers me."

"Not true."

Despite the fact that she enjoyed the warmth of his hands, Nora shrugged them off. He didn't resist, only mounting Tornac and waiting for her.

"This isn't over, yet. Once we bring Eragon to the Varden, maybe we can get far enough away, but…" Her passive eyes glanced back to him for a split second. "I don't need to explain it to you."

"With a new Rider and with us free, it's only a matter of time before the snake's head is cut off. Besides, he's not here, Nora."

"But _you_ are here. The snake still has its head. And the new Rider is a farm boy who doesn't understand the ways of the world…or anything else, for that matter. It should have been you."

"Why?" he scoffed. "I don't want to lead anything; and I know that you don't either."

"But you're strong, practical, worldly-wise, you understand the inner workings of politics, and you…" She lowered her voice as they got closer to Eragon, who had taken the lead of their travel. "You have dealt with Galbatorix."

A smile pulled at the corner of Murtagh's lips as he directed Tornac closer and leaned to whisper in her ear. Her cheeks colored at his tickling breath on her neck.

"So have you. You know, I didn't think this was possible, but you're even more stern than the last time I saw you."

"Before, I had you; after I left, I had no one to lean on."

"Well, I'm back."

* * *

><p>Flying low, Saphira contacted Nora with her mind. Her trust in this human girl was becoming strained with these sudden interactions with Murtagh.<p>

"**I won't have to kill you, will I, small one?"**

Nora's head jerked to look at the dragon above her. Slight fear ran across their connection.

"**Only if you prove to not be as wise as I thought, dragon."**

Saphira snort indignantly, frustrated that Nora refused to let her see anything beyond basic speech and emotions and offended by the insult of her intelligence.

"**Of course not. But you carry a darkness about you, Nora-Tricia, and I won't let it touch my Rider."**

Still looking up, Nora rested a hand over her heart.

"**I would never intentionally harm you or your Rider, Saphira. **_**I swear it**_**."**

* * *

><p><em>Thumpity. Thumpity. Thumpity. Thump. <em>

Nora's attention snapped back down to reality at the sound.

"Listen."

"What? There's nothing to listen to!" Eragon barked, still a short ways ahead, as they hadn't been riding long enough for the other two to catch up.

"Eragon, stop," Murtagh hissed, causing the other boy to swiftly trot back to his companions, smoke practically coming out of his ears.

"Why should I be quiet? Because you tell me to? _I _don't hear a thing. Can you, _Murtagh_?"

Murtagh looked away, refusing to be provoked.

"I do not hear anything, either; but Nora _did_."

"How could she _possibly_ have heard anything we didn't?"

"Questions, questions," the woman spouted, heading nonchalantly back toward the hill the separated them from the carnage. "Just shut your idiot trap and follow me, boy."

"Does she have to call me 'boy'?" the Rider sniffed.

"At the moment, yes!"

"_What, in the name of all that is good, caused this bloody mess?"_

Sensing Saphira trying to gain entrance into her mind, Nora accepted the dragon's reported confirmation of a man (on foot!) on the other side of the hill, viewing the mess Murtagh had left behind.

Nora was the first to top the hill, and the first to catch the man's eye as she approached, alighted from Tricia, and stopped about thirty feet away.

The man, who had drawn his broadsword the second they were in sight, narrowed his expressive, almond-shaped eyes upon the appearance of the girl's 'friends', who stayed at the hilltop out of caution. Saphira had apparently decided to stay in the sky and out of sight.

Though she held a bout of magic ready in case he proved dangerous, she couldn't help but be intrigued. Even at this split-second meeting, she viewed him with approval. He was handsome in a rugged, Murtagh-ish way, though a little shorter and older, and appeared to be lean and fit. His ashy-brown, probably almost shoulder-length hair was carelessly tied back with a strip of leather. Though his tan, hardened face didn't show hardly a speck of emotion, his mossy brownish eyes (they reminded her of a wise old Weeping Willow) displayed perfect suspicion.

Nora looked around briefly for the source of the thumping she had heard previously, but there was no horse to be seen.

"Did you people cause this?" he demanded, sword casually at ready as if he wasn't feeling unprepared in the least.

Nora's lips twitched in amusement at how this fighter had practically perfected her and Murtagh's attempts of being stoic, but she managed to answer,

"No, I did not. My friend, however, did…to protect my honor. What's left of this man used to be a slave trader bent on capturing my companions and I. Can I safely assume that you are not one of his cowardly minions out to get revenge?"

At that, the man's demeanor completely shifted. With smooth frivolity, he put his weapon away and covered it with the worn brown cloak he sported. His voice, when he spoke again, was a light, baritone drawl that yelled 'potential ladies' man' instantly. The relaxing of his face revealed a mix of laughter creases next to his eyes and mouth and a few dotted scars from a probable disease. And he had a somewhat bold, wide nose, though it fit in quite nicely with his other features.

"A man who would kill for honor is not my enemy. But tell me – Why are you traveling through this _pathetic_ desert, anyway?"

"I might ask you the same thing."

He shrugged.

"I might tell you if your friends weren't sitting over there on their high horses like vultures."

Chuckling, Nora shrilly whistled, yelling,

"You can come down, now! I think it's safe." Feeling a little more at ease when the boys dismounted and came down, she turned back to the stranger. "I think names would be a good start. My name is Nora. My companions are Eragon and Murtagh."

"You think it's a good idea to tell him our real names, Nora?" Eragon growled, having flanked the girl along with his uncooperative friend.

"Perfectly. And you, just stranger?"

"The name is Eedom, m'lady," was the half-haughty, half-respectful reply.

Then she recognized him.

"Oh, don't even start with the 'm'lady' stuff, Stranson!"

Eedom's thin eyebrows shot skyward and his head cocked with thought. Meanwhile, Eragon's demand for an explanation and questioning why he was so out of the loop went unheard.

"Nora…of course! Ha! Little Nora: the girl who was going to 'get out'. Looks like you made it!"

"As did you!"

That statement sobered him up for a minute.

"Uh…sure. And, of course, Murtagh. It seems you never changed, either. You were always playing guard dog for her then, too. Oh! Speaking of guard dogs…"

Nora gasped as a medium-sized, frazzled-looking dog came flying at her in a tackle and knocked her into the sand. The scruffy thing was long and lanky with a mix of shaggy, tan and black-ish hair, a long, wet nose, short ears, a long, thin tail, and dark little eyes.

"This is at least the second time today that I've been slapped down like a rag doll," the downed runner muttered, trying to decide if the animal was friendly or not.

"Nora, meet Duchess."

Finally, giving the creature a cautious scratching of the ears, Nora managed to get back up, speaking again as she dusted herself off.

"Eedom, from the brief time that I knew you, I know that you can be trusted. How would you like to come with us?"

Adjusting his cloak, the man roguishly smiled, but gave a negative shake of the head, especially with the other men scowling at him.

"Knowing you, the whole Empire is probably after you. I'd prefer to not risk my neck, at this point in time.

* * *

><p>Frowning at Eedom, but not wanting to seem rude on first contact, Eragon nudged at Nora's mind and was surprised to find her usual barriers not nearly as strong as they once were. He tried to see what the bloody woman could possibly be thinking, but, then, he was caught.<p>

"**You could have asked straight out, but I might as well tell you: I have met this man before and he **_**is**_** coming with us. Now get your nose out of my head."**

"Speaking of the Empire, Eedom," Nora said out loud, visibly ignoring Eragon's nosiness, "what are you doing here?"

"Running from the Empire."

"So are we. Why not join us? Safety in numbers."

"If all of you are on the run, I think I'll be safer on my own, thank you very much. Where do you plan to run to?"

"Eragon and the sleeping beauty, here, are going to the Varden. After that, I have no immediate plans beyond staying away from everything to do with politics, the Empire, the Varden, the elves, and their whole bloody conflict. With you along with us, Murtagh and I would have a better chance of finding somewhere we won't be found. I hear Kuasta is nice at this time of the year."

"I'll meet you some other time. I have no intention of even _risking_ getting _close_ to those self-righteous curs, however they may be against the Empire."

"Please come with us, Eedom."

Eragon pursed his lips at the pleading insistence, growling,

"Nora, if the man doesn't want to come, let him go."

"Eedom, there are soldiers and Urgals following us. If they catch you…well, you can probably just join them, if you're so keen on saving yourself."

The Dragon Rider stared. Didn't this roguish stranger just say that he was running from the Empire?

"Nora, why are you trying to force him to come with us?"

Suddenly bubbling with rather uncharacteristic chuckles, Murtagh covered his face and walked back to his horse. Meanwhile, Eedom shifted his weight about a dozen times before frowning at the woman, saying,

"Soldiers, huh? And you wouldn't happen to know which direction they're coming from, would you?"

"They followed us from Gil'ead," the boy put in, "so…from that direction."

"Soldiers, slavers, and Trollocs…" Sighing, the man scratched the back of his head in internal debate. "And where are the Varden?"

"In the Beor Mountains."

"All I want is to be away from the Empire; I don't want to be involved in it. I like my life right now. Maybe I'll see you again in the future. Hopefully under better circumstances and in good condition."

A shrill whistle from Eedom resulted in the trumpeting of some sort of animal. Seconds later, a lanky, giant sand-colored creature with four flailing legs, a humped back, and puckered lips came trotting over the hill to the man. When he mounted his strange steed with his dog in a makeshift bowl-seat attached to the back of his saddle and pointed the creature toward the desert, Nora interrupted,

"How will you get water. There's nothing but parched desert for miles. And your…ride will certainly need it."

Eedom grinned childishly.

"Oh, don't worry, m'lady. I have my ways. Thanks for the warning. Safe travels!"

With a yell, he charged his animal into the oblivion, going at a surprisingly fast rate.

"Well…that was interesting."

"I never thought of Eedom as a nomad," Murtagh noted.

"So you really did remember him. Hmm."

"Not to break up an apparently wonderful reunion," Eragon broke in, already on Snowfire, "but we have to go."

"...says the stubborn dwarf," Murtagh grumbled as he also jumped into the saddle.

"Don't even start with me! With Saphira and my magic, I could do just fine without you!"

Causing Tricia to rear and gallop to cut in front of the men, Nora snarled, fed up with this conflict.

"That's it!" she hissed, glaring at both of them. "Even after the way you worked together and supported each other over the past hour, can't you see past the fact that you both have secrets that you're not yet willing to part with? You are an amazing team, despite your disagreements. Can't you see that? If you don't start acting like men rather than a couple of broody hens fighting over a nest, what's to stop me from leaving? I have no desire to see the Varden and no loyalties to you, Eragon, or the elf. So, what's to stop me?"

"The threat of me tying you up over the back of my saddle for the rest of this leg of our journey, that's what," stated Murtagh in a non-joking tone. "You know that you're too weak still to be on your own out there."

"I've lasted this long on my own and it's better than being stuck with you squawking ninnies."

"Before, you weren't recovering from being tortured by a Shade."

Eragon interrupted,

"Nora, if it makes things better, I promise that we won't fight anymore like that. I owe you both too much to cause more trouble here." She sniffed and haughtily turned her horse away to a snappy trot up the hill. "I will never understand women," she overheard Eragon grumbling to the other boy.

"Other women are easy compared to her."

Thanks for reading!


	10. His and Hers, They and Them

Yayyyyy! Want to know why I say that? Well, now that I have gotten through the rush of Eragon and Murtagh's 'escape' and all that jazz, I can finally focus a bit more on the good ol' mysteries and plots for which I was originally excited in this story. See? Yay!

His and Hers, They and Them

In only a few days, the small party had exited the Hadarac Desert and skirted the Beor Mountains in search of a valley that, according to Arya's short discussion with Eragon, would lead to the entrance of the Varden's hideout. At first, since their run-in with the slavers and Eedom, they had excellent luck outrunning the Urgals. Now, however, as they entered a heavily forested valley that seemed minuscule compared to the sky-touching mountains, their pursuers were dangerously close. All three humans were exhausted beyond belief, having only stopped to water the horses and each traveler trading lead of the steeds while the other two slept in the saddle.

Hoping that the Urgals would miss the little valley and pass them by, they stopped for a moment in a clearing in the midst of the oversized, drooping trees. Having been forced to fly over the crowded foliage, Saphira landed in the small meadow with a look of possible bewilderment. Both Murtagh and Nora looked up at the sheer hillside with significant concern. Though Eragon was obviously relieved, for them, it was the embodiment of the saying, 'out of the frying pan and into the fire'. They felt…trapped.

"The Varden are hidden at the end of the valley," Eragon naively commented. "If we hurry, we might get there before nightfall."

Murtagh grunted uncomfortably, irritable from the hard ride, saying,

"How are Nora and I going to get out of here? I don't see any valleys joining this one, and the Urgals are going to hem us in pretty soon. I need an escape route."

"Don't worry about it," was the impatient response. "This is a long valley; there's sure to be an exit further in. Watch Arya – I'm going to fly with Saphira. We'll meet you up ahead."

"Be careful."

Then, Eragon took off from the clearing, leaving his companions with the senseless elf. Nora glowered with frustration as she followed Murtagh in picking their way back through the close-knit trees. The chaos of running had hardly allowed her to recover from her imprisonment. While Eragon had finally gotten around to healing the rest of her injuries soon after their escape, the trauma of being tortured and barely sleeping for days on end had only been retained with the recent chaos.

She didn't dare perform any but the most basic spells, such as lifting a water skin or starting a fire. Things like scrying and raising water from the earth as Eragon had done in the desert left her hardly able to sit straight (the one time she had tried it, she received quite a reprimand from Murtagh). On top of it all, she was reckless, as proven by her carelessness before and during their journey through the Hadarac, and irritable even in comparison to the boys.

"Who does that boy think he is?" she growled half an octave lower than her normal speaking voice. "I'd say that I'd love to have an opportunity to say 'I told you so'. But he'd probably get himself killed that day. He just…doesn't understand! Murtagh, when he finds out (and he will find out), he won't understand what we've gone through for this freedom. We've looked forward to this for years and this dragon-riding…twit…is turning it into my worst nightmare. I ran away from home to get away from all of this, not get tossed into the eye of it!"

"I know, but he _doesn't _know yet, Nora."

The girl scoffed. For all of his brooding anger, Murtagh always seemed to suddenly get all cool and collected when she got a little snappy.

"What if we can't get out of this? We'll be trapped into going to the Varden. From my one run-in with their kind, they don't like me on the whole much more than the elves. And with this elf, they'll be ready to hang me before you can say 'sanctuary'. In case you forgot, people like us are not exactly welcome among the ranks of Galbatorix's enemies."

Snarling at the fitful woman draped over Snowfire, Nora gave her twitching leg a smart kick from the saddle. Murtagh shot her a reproachful glance.

"What difference would the elf make?"

"For Arya, it's personal. I just want to be away from all this. I don't want to be involved any more. Maybe we can hide away in some remote village or go beyond the reaches of Alagaesia's map to see what virgin lands lay beyond."

"Me too."

He would have said more, but the sight of giant tracks on the ground sent him into silence as he investigated.

* * *

><p>After it got too dark to continue their barrage of rocks onto the Kull Urgals below them, Saphira and Eragon spotted their destination at the end of the valley and landed in a clearing in what they guessed was Murtagh and Nora's path. Seconds later, they came charging out of the trees on foot, driving the horses before them and not slowing upon seeing the dragon and Rider. Eragon leapt off of Saphira, allowing her run to the river for easier passage for her bulk, and matched his friends' pace.<p>

"I saw you dropping rocks with Saphira – ambitious," the other man panted. "Have the Kull stopped or turned back?"

"They're still behind us, but we're almost to the head of the valley. How's Arya?"

"She hasn't died," Murtagh spat, suddenly putting the emotion in his voice on a tight leash. "Is there a valley or gorge ahead that I can leave through?"

Having completely forgotten about that issue, Eragon tried to remember if he had seen a possible escape, but couldn't think of any, so he tried being tactful in his response.

"It's dark, so I might have missed something, but…no."

Swearing with explosive venom, Murtagh screeched to a halt, yanking on the horses' reigns to get them to stop. Nora likewise ceased movement, looking at Eragon as if he had snuck up on her bathing and said 'boo'.

"Are you saying that the only place I can go is to the Varden?"

"Yes, but keep running. The Urgals are almost upon us!"

"No!" the dark man yelled, stabbing an accusing finger in the boy's chest. "I warned you that I wouldn't go to the Varden, but you went ahead and trapped me between a hammer and an anvil! You're the one with the elf's memories. Why didn't you tell me this was a dead end?"

"All I knew was where we had to go, not what lay in between. Don't blame me for choosing to come."

"I'm not going to risk putting myself or Nora in the hands of those people!" Murtagh hissed, gruffly turning away. He was rigid, his shoulders tensed and his hands on his hips. Nora wasn't much better. Having sunk to a crouch upon hearing the news, she bent her head down, gripping her knotted black hair tightly in her fists.

"**Why have you stopped?" **questioned an alarmed Saphira.

"**Don't distract me," **the Rider snipped back before saying out loud, "What's your quarrel with the Varden? It can't be so terrible that you must keep it hidden even now. Would you rather fight the Kull than reveal it? How many times will we go through this before you trust me?"

"**The Urgals!"**

"**I know,"** he growled again. **"But we have to resolve this."**

"**Quickly, quickly."**

He wanted to know about both companions, but Eragon decided to try Murtagh first. Besides, he was acting a little more fitful about it than Nora…sort of.

"Murtagh, unless you wish to die, we must go to the Varden. Don't let me walk into their arms without knowing how they will react to you. It's going to be dangerous enough without unnecessary surprises."

At last, Murtagh turned back to face Eragon, his breathing fast and hard like the panting of a cornered wild animal. His breathing slowed only a little when he glanced at Nora, who looked up, mirroring the expression of torture in both his voice and face.

"You have a right to know," he said, slowly and painfully. "I…I am the son of Morzan, first and last of the Forsworn."

At a loss for words, Eragon's mind raged with conflict.

The Forsworn never had any children, least of all Morzan. Morzan! The man who betrayed the Riders to Galbatorix and remained the king's favorite servant for the rest of his life. Could it be true?

Saphira, also in shock at the news, suddenly came crashing through the trees to his side, facing Murtagh with bared teeth. Nora, who had been previously sitting helplessly between them, now bounded up away from Saphira to Murtagh's side, as if she was ready to take on even the dragon in his defense. A cautionary hand went to the sword on her belt.

"**Be ready for anything. He may be able to use magic. And Nora could be stronger than we thought," **Saphira warned.

"You are his heir?" Eragon asked, instinctively reaching for Zar'roc. Was he really working for the king all this time?

"I didn't choose this!" Murtagh screamed, tearing off his tunic and shirt to bare the tanned, muscular flesh beneath and turning his back to the other boy. "Look!" Eragon uncertainly complied, straining to see his back in the darkness. Sure enough, stretching from his right shoulder to his left hip was a white, knotted scar that spoke of unspeakable torment. With all secrets gone, Murtagh now spoke swiftly. "See that? I was only three when I got it. During one of his many drunken rages, Morzan threw his sword at me as I ran by. My back was laid open by the very sword you now carry – the only thing I expected to receive as inheritance, until Brom stole it from my father's corpse. I was lucky, I suppose – there was a healer nearby who kept me from dying. You must understand, I don't love the Empire or the king. I have no allegiance to them, nor do I mean you harm!"

Letting his guard down a little, Eragon wondered if it was the truth.

"Then your father…was killed by…"

"Yes, Brom," was the answer as Murtagh pulled his shirt on with a resigned air.

"Come, run with me." With Saphira this time running with them, Eragon briefly asked,

"Your tale is hard to believe. How do I know you aren't lying?"

"Why would I lie?"

"You could be–"

Their minute-long batting back and forth led nowhere and he and Saphira were forced to believe that Murtagh was telling the truth. But then there was Nora, trotting on the other side of Morzan's son. He couldn't help himself…

"And, Nora, what are you?" She shot an almost demonic scowl at him in the dim. "Are you Murtagh's sister, his lover, or just a loyal bodyguard?"

She continued looking ahead, giving Tricia's reigns a sharp yank before replying.

"You know nothing, boy. Look through your memories of me and tell me to my face that I'm your enemy. Saphira knows that I will never harm you on my own accord. I swore it to Saphira. Besides, it's probably better if your reaction is as…genuine as possible when I am recognized…for your own sake."

"But…"

"I would not advise continuing that sentence," Murtagh muttered.

The trumpeting of an Urgal horn behind them gave a little more life to their legs.

* * *

><p>Saphira, with Arya on her back, was the first to dive into the water that was supposedly the entrance to the Varden domain; then went Murtagh, followed by the horses. Murtagh, after diving in, bobbed up for before disappearing into the roaring falls. Eragon, sheathing Zar'roc, glanced back at Nora with a look of both anticipation and fear before leaping into the froth.<p>

Nora herself held back for a brief moment, looking back at the humungous Urgals charging at her, quickly closing the distance between her and death. But what would she face with the Varden? She valued her life, but she also valued her freedom and the anonymity that had come with her stay in Carvahall. That and her most dreaded way of dying was, of course, drowning. But, if she went in there, once she was recognized…

Praying to whoever might be listening, she sheathed her weapon and dove in. The waterfall pummeled down on her head, driving her to the bottom of the river. Beyond the overpowering drumming of the water, she thought she heard faint yelling even as the air began to escape from her lungs. Thankfully, she hit the gravelly bottom soon enough to kick off and reach the surface. Her lungs screamed for air, but what she found at the surface was almost worse than drowning.

Strong hands pulled her out of the water and dropped the sopping wet girl onto a hard rock surface. She coughed and spluttered, leaning her forehead against the floor. Through her thick mat of draped, dripping hair, she could see a faint blue light…and booted feet.

"None of that!" an oily male's voice hissed. "If you say or do anything I don't tell you to, he will die."

"What do we have here?" an identical voice asked. At the same time, the owner of the boots suddenly grabbed Nora by her hair and forced her to stand.

"Leave her alone!" Murtagh growled from nearby, resulting in the dagger at his throat drawing a few drops of blood.

"We said 'no talking'. Now, everyone inside."

The travelers reluctantly followed their captors inside and through an archway, down a long winding corridor, and into a large stone room big enough for Saphira, whereupon the doors were tightly sealed. There would be no escaping now. Surprisingly, though, their weapons had yet to be taken. The two identical bald men, one of which was still holding cruelly tight to Nora's hair, were probably magicians…and they seemed to _think_ they were pretty good.

"**Just give me two seconds and I would…"**

"**Don't even think about it,"** Saphira suddenly interrupted.

Nora skeptically rolled her eyes to look at the dragon, her head being restrained by baldy's fist.

"**Why not? Can't I fantasize?"**

"**No."**

"There's an injured," Eragon began to explain, but a gesture from the other magician cut him off. He spoke a moment later.

"Do not speak! It must wait until you have been tested." Murtagh was then promptly tossed over to a guard, who also put a blade to his throat. "Remove your weapons and slide them to me." Eragon was allowed to remove Zar'roc and his bow and quiver himself, pushing them in a pile to the warriors; however, Nora and Murtagh had their weapons removed for them. The girl thought she heard a chuckle from the dwarf when one of the guards took an entire minute to find all of the daggers hidden on her person.

At last, Eragon convinced them to take Arya to a healer.

Then, the Twins proceeded to examine the Rider's memories, painful though it was, apparently. Murtagh came next, though he bravely refused to allow the invasion into his mind. Then…

At a signal from the Twins, the guard threw Nora to the ground. Steeling herself and glaring hatefully at the bald men, she rose to her knees and defiantly whipped her hair out of her as yet covered face. The Twins' eyes widened and their lips twitched with distaste. Despite how time and trial had caused her face to thin and her demeanor to become lax, they apparently somehow recognized her, though she did not recall ever seeing them.

Then there was a brief moment when daggers seemed to lash out at her mind. The walls closed in about her and hammers of pain struck at her consciousness. Yet she resisted. Using every bit of strength that she had, she pushed back against the Twins' conjoined efforts to break through her barriers. Despite the mental agony, there was something invigorating about the conflict. She remembered the time she had bested one of the king's greatest magicians and the countless times she had used magic to conceal herself from the eyes of the world. Rather than draining her, she felt the battle renewing her strength. The Twins were evil. They were the reason Murtagh was barely able to stand on his own feet. They were pawns of Galbatorix in the very midst of the clueless Varden.

The Twins were the ones who broke the contact. Nora tried to lash out with her mind – spurs of icy fire – but they hid behind their own safeguards before she had the chance. They staggered backwards, holding each other upright until they recovered, glaring down their sharp noses like vultures. Exhaustion finally overtook the woman and she slumped back down.

With a few quick words to the soldiers, they stormed out.

Collapsing against the wall and joined by Saphira, Eragon looked as if he had been struck by lightening.

"N…Nora," he stuttered after a moment, "…what was that all about? They didn't even bother _trying _to look at your memories."

Curled up with her forehead pressed against the stone floor, Nora slowly slid back to a kneeling position, leaning her hands on her knees. Her contest of minds seemed to have lasted several minutes, at least…was it really so short that no one even noticed.

"Did you not see?" she asked in surprise, shocked at the shakiness of her own voice.

"See what? They just looked at you for two seconds before their knees got weak. Did something else happen?"

"Psh. More than you know."

Shaking his head, Eragon inquired after Murtagh's impressive hold-out against the Twins, to which he replied by explaining that he had training, then the Rider turned to his dragon's injuries.

* * *

><p>"I hope they bring food soon," Murtagh growled, leaning his head back against the wall, feeling rather dazed.<p>

"Why are you here?"

He blinked at Eragon's question.

"What?"

"If you really are Morzan's son, Galbatorix wouldn't let you wander around Alagaesia freely. How is it that you managed to find the Ra'zac by yourself? Why is it I've never heard of any of the Forsworn having children? And what are you doing here?"

The boy's voice eventually had risen to a shout. Murtagh sighed.

"It's a long story."

"We're not going anywhere."

"It's too late to talk."

"There probably won't be time for it tomorrow."

Wrapping his arms around legs, resting his chin on his knees, and slowly rocking back and forth, Murtagh stared at Nora, who was in the same spot as before, laying on side and using her arm as a pillow. The corset-vest she wore drew attention to her delicate hourglass figure and her frizzy wet curls stretching tendrils around her neck and shoulders down to the floor gave her a rather roguish look. He couldn't say it for most women, but she fit the part of the wanderer perfectly.

"It's not a… I don't want to stop…so make yourself comfortable. My story will take a while." Eragon shifted to lean against Saphira, but Nora remained where she was, staring blankly at the wall. How to begin… "As far as I know…I am the only child of the Thirteen Servants, or the Forsworn as they're called. There may be others, for the Thirteen had the skill to hide whatever they wanted, but I doubt it, for reasons I'll explain later.

"My parents met in a small village – I never learned where – while my father was traveling on the king's business. Morzan showed my mother some small kindness, no doubt a ploy to gain her confidence, and when he left, she accompanied him. They traveled together for a time, and as is the nature of these things, she fell deeply in love with him. Morzan was delighted to discover this not only because it gave him numerous opportunities to torment her but also because he recognized the advantage of having a servant who wouldn't betray him.

"Thus, when Morzan returned to Galbatorix's court, my mother became the tool he relied upon most. He used her to carry his secret messages, and he taught her rudimentary magic, which helped her remain undiscovered and, on occasion, extract information from people. He did his best to protect her from the rest of the Thirteen – not out of any feelings for her, but because they would have used her against him, given the chance… For three years things proceeded in this manner, until my mother became pregnant."

There, Murtagh paused, noting Nora's sad reaction. But he continued.

"My father was, if nothing else, a cunning man. He knew that the pregnancy put both him and my mother in danger, not to mention the baby – that is, me. So, in the dead of night, he spirited her away from the palace and took her to his castle. Once there, he laid down powerful spells that prevented anyone from entering his estate except for a few chosen servants. In this way the pregnancy was kept secret from everyone but Galbatorix.

"Galbatorix knew the intimate details of the Thirteen's lives: their plots, their fights – and most importantly – their thoughts. He enjoyed watching them battle each other and often helped one or the other for his own amusement. But for some reason he never revealed my existence.

"I was born in due time and given to a wet nurse so my mother could return to Morzan's side. She had no choice in the matter. Morzan allowed her to visit me every few months, but otherwise we were kept apart. Another three years passed like this, during which time he gave me the…scar on my back. I would have grown to manhood in this fashion if Morzan hadn't been summoned away to hunt for Saphira's egg…"

He finished his tale, explaining how his mother had mysteriously run away for months and died soon after her return; how his father had been killed and he had been brought to the king's palace to grow up; how Galbatorix had sent for him and whispered sweet lies into his ears. He explained the king's dream of bringing the rule of the Riders back into a world of peace and prosperity. He explained how the king had ordered him to slaughter the innocent villagers, how he ran away and fled to an old friend, and how he listened to news of the Empire until tales of the new Rider had reached his ears. But Eragon still didn't understand.

"So why don't you join the Varden? They'll distrust you for a time, but once you prove your loyalty they'll treat you with respect. And aren't they in a sense your allies? They strive to end the king's reign. Isn't that what you want?"

"Must I spell everything out for you? I don't want Galbatorix to learn where I am, which is inevitable if people start saying that I've sided with his enemies, which I've never done. These…_rebels _are trying not only to overthrow the king but to destroy the Empire…and I don't want that to happen. It would sow mayhem and anarchy. The king is flawed, yes, but the system itself is sound. As for earning the Varden's respect: Ha! Once I am exposed, they'll treat me like a criminal or worse. Not only that, suspicion will fall upon you because we traveled together!"

"It isn't _that_ bad. I'm sure that they won't be -"

He was interrupted as the door was cracked open and there appeared three bowls, a loaf of bread, and a hunk of raw meat.

"Finally!"

As they began eating, Eragon kept glancing at Nora.

"What about you, Nora?"

The girl looked wide-eyed over the spoon in her mouth.

"What about me?" she deadpanned.

"Your story. I've heard Murtagh's. Don't worry about trying to outdo him. This isn't a competition."

She laughed at his dry humor, but said nothing, electing to ignore him, finish her soup, and sleep without another word in the dim light of the cave. Saphira and Eragon fell asleep almost as soon as they were done eating.

Not wanting to even look at Eragon at the moment, Nora moved closer to the wall and lay down with her back turned towards her companions, leaning against her arm again. As she closed her eyes, she felt a hand on her waist. Smiling to herself, she gently grabbed it with her free hand and drew it closer, finally allowing herself to relax.

* * *

><p><em>A figure tore through the torch-lit halls and crashed through a door that looked like all the others – solid, wide black archways. The door closed behind her with a loud crash that bounced off of every corner of that section of the castle, causing several dogs to bark and more than one servant to raise a head from their pillows and grumble about how 'she's at it again'. 'She' was rather surprised that the door hadn't been knocked off its hinges.<em>

_The servants knew little of her, despite her eternal presence, though she was infamous for her temper tantrums that shook the flooring and her tendency to haunt the inner depths of the palace. They made her out to be a spoiled child with unnatural powers or maybe she was possessed… They were all false. Others yet pitied her. None had lived her life. Her 'tantrums' had only occurred three times before, though they stuck in everyone's minds. There had been good reasons for those fits of anger and grief. Every time. This time was the most frustrating of all._

_Standing in the middle of the richly furnished room with a stiff jaw, the girl's eyes suddenly found the full-length mirror. When they weren't whispering about her horrible anger and terrible sadness, the servants who didn't know _her _were marveling at her. _

_Even at fifteen, there she was - her full waist-length hair black as midnight and wild as a stormy ocean – her haunting eyes as gray as snow clouds – her lips delicate and firm – her figure strong, elegant, and tall. Her V-necked gown stiffly hung around her figure in dark red folds. They called her the Storm, the Ice Queen, the Black Stone. Only she knew her true name. It taunted her, ripped at her soul, yanked on the strings of her fate. Everything in her life was tied down and dictated to her. All she wanted was freedom. But, even with this, she was trapped. Especially with this._

_This._

_This fate._

_This curse._

_This mystery._

_Why such emotion? Who was she to let her emotions take control of her. That's what _he _wanted. She dishonored the heritage she loved by losing control of herself. With one definitive cry, the damsel ran to the mirror and punched with her bare fist. It shattered deafeningly. She flattered herself by thinking of it as reflecting her life falling apart – her self-pity falling away._

_A knock sounded at the door._

"_Nora…Nora, please let me in."_

_With a wave of her hand, the door opened, admitting a dark young man in black leather. Only a few months older than Nora, he was her best friend and now…_

"_Nora, what did you do?" he growled grabbing her bloody fist and a dragging her to the adjacent washroom to clean the cuts with a towel._

_Sitting on the edge of the large tub, Nora tried in vain to yank her hand away from the handsome boy._

"_Leave it to bleed. I at least feel alive."_

"_Nora, why did you do that?" Murtagh sighed, dabbing gently at the slices and looking for slivers of glass._

"_I wanted to see that I was an independent human being still and not some lifeless puppet."_

_Silently, he found a strip of white cloth and wrapped her hand._

"_I know." Sadly, they walked back into the room to the large window. The moon seemed to light up the countryside beyond the horrors of Uru'baen. "We have a choice to make. Do you we bother resisting Galbatorix's wishes?"_

"_What choice do we have?"_

"_To run or resign."_

_A determined spark of anger flickered in Nora's eyes._

"_He forces me to choose between my two greatest wishes."_

"_I'm flattered."_

"_Don't even, Murtagh. We have to run – now, before this goes any farther."_

"_How are planning on getting yourself out of here?"_

"_Myself? We are both going, my friend. I'll not leave you to the king's wrath alone."_

"_We can't both get out. One, yes, but two people…one of us die in the attempt and I don't want to risk it."_

"_No, Murtagh! I won't leave you."_

"_I'll follow you when I can. You can enchant a bird with your magic and I can send it out when I leave. We can choose a place to meet." She crossed her arms, knowing that it was the only way but not wanting to believe it. Several minutes went by with nothing said. "If you don't want to submit to the king, then this is the only way."_

"_He will still have a leash on us. Thanks to his cunning, whatever makes us happy will make him happy. That's the last thing I want."_

"_What if he does think of you as more than just a pawn?"_

"_That's like considering that Morzan thought of your mother as more than a pawn – and I know you're not ready to consider that." Another pause. "How long?"_

"_At least a year before their suspicions are low enough for me to get away safely."_

"_We might as well both try right now."_

"_No, Lenora. We both want freedom from this; this is the only way. Just think: once we're back together, we can get a look at what's beyond those maps we're always studying."_

"_Dras Leona – they wouldn't suspect us to meet up somewhere so obvious. I'll see you in a year. Let's get to planning."_

Almost three years later, having settle in Carvahall, Nora surprised herself by dreaming of the elf Arya being ambushed by Urgals during her journey with the blue dragon egg. Tired of waiting for Murtagh's signal, she resolved to seek out the site of her dream. The night Brom had visited, she had scryed Murtagh, only to find a hard-to-interpret blur of him riding…somewhere.

After using her dreams as a map and trying to save the stubborn elf, she had followed rumors of strange travelers from one city to another in search of Murtagh. Scrying was of no use. She saw him, but not his surroundings, for some reason. Despairing of all other possibilities, she went to their agreed meeting place: Dras Leona. Fascinated and horrified by the great black cathedral, she had investigated the place through the back door, not wanting to attract attraction by entering from the front. That was where she found Eragon, cornered like a rat.

She didn't meet Murtagh again until Gil'ead.


	11. Nighttime Recognition

Thank you everyone for your support! Please enjoy!

Nighttime Recognition

Cringing at the crick in his neck as he awoke, Eragon looked over at Murtagh, who was slouched against the wall still, staring at nothing with an empty gaze. But there was one person missing.

"Wh…where's Nora?"

"They took her," was the cold reply.

"When?"

"A while ago."

"**Saphira, why didn't you wake me?"**

"**There was nothing I could do without causing you danger," **she replied. **"I'm surprised my growling didn't wake you."**

"**I guess I was tired." **Out loud, he asked, "Why do you think they took her and not one of us?"

The boy's expression darkened even more.

"To give her a bath, to torture her, to execute her, for all I know!"

"How long have you been awake?"

"Awhile."

* * *

><p>"Lenora." The dark, strong man acknowledged her presence, waving the three guards away and motioning for the girl to sit down, tied hands and all. The Twins stood skulking in the corner like rats waiting for scraps to be thrown from the table. Ajihad was a warrior of strong countenance and great wisdom – perfect for leading an organization like the Varden. Unfortunately, she didn't exactly have time to marvel too much.<p>

"Ajihad," she returned, crossing her legs against the cushioned seat and resting her bound hands on them in a hopefully casual-looking position.

"This was the last place I ever expected to see you, Lenora. It was unwise of you to come. Don't you know that this place is dangerous for people…like you?"

Nora leveled her gaze with his.

"It's not like a I had a choice, sire. I was traveling with Eragon and, by the time I thought of parting ways with him, we were already being chased by the Urgals. It was to be taken by those creatures or risk my lot here. I'm sure I can't expect the same amount of courtesy that you showed me during our last encounter, but I know that you are just and trust-worthy. I cannot say the same for any Urgal leader."

The figure behind the desk looked at the black cloth band on his wrist at the mention of their previous meeting. It seemed that he remembered just as well as she. Slowly, he unwrapped the band and turned his palm upward, revealing a star-shaped scar, as if the wound had been made just deep enough to leave a permanent mark.

"Where is your star pendant?" Ajihad queried, obviously remembering that day.

Soon after her escape from Uru'baen, Nora had come across a Varden raiding party, one of the few that Ajihad had actually led himself. After stumbling upon them, she was instantly recognized as a horror to be purged from the land; however, the rebel leader had found mercy in his heart and allowed her to leave. The pointed scar was her odd way of reminding herself whom she could trust.

"I think I lost it when Eragon, Brom, and I were captured by the Ra'zac."

"Ra'zac! That you're alive is a miracle even I can be grateful for."

"Even you?"

Nora coyly tossed her hair, which had become even more tangled and unruly after drying from her late night swim, sleeping on the stone floor, and being rudely awakened in the middle of a rather pleasant dream. She scowled and enjoyed the result of Ajihad, a stoic fighter, shifting under her gaze, however slightly. She knew full well how her eyes affected everyone who looked at them – haunting, piercing, dampening sadness and gloom that looked into your very soul (or so had a soldier said nearly five years previously) – except Murtagh. He seemed to be practically the only person alive who didn't find her stare disturbing. It frustrated her though. Her eyes were like anyone else's eyes – just gray…almost black…like _his_.

"Even you," she repeated with a little more spite, her voice becoming more of a growl. "All my life, I have been feared and hated for actions that are not my own; some think I'm their savior because of a heritage that I can only partially claim; only a spare few have earned my trust and me theirs. You can put on a front as much as you like, Ajihad, but I know that, despite your _pity_, you can barely see me as more than the pawn of one of the people you hate the most. Claim innocence all you want, but don't lie to my face."

Ajihad leaned forward and lace his fingers together on his grand desk.

"I am not that kind of man, Lenora. I am grateful that you are safe…and I want to request that you join the Varden."

Instantly suspicious, Nora glanced at the Twins who were still lurking in the shadows.

"What's the catch?"

"In exchange for full sanctuary and acceptance, I want to know everything – what his plans are, his weaknesses, the layout of his private quarters, where he gets his power from, what his sleeping habits are – everything...and your allegiance."

She clenched her fists as she sneered,

"I have been gone from Uru'baen for over three years, now. What makes you think that I would remember all that, let alone be willing to share it?"

"You need my protection and we both need his downfall."

"No more than you," the girl snapped, slamming her tied hands down on the edge of the table. Her eyes yet again flashed to the Twins' haunt, but they had mysteriously disappeared. "I am no safer here than in the nest of a Lethrblaka." Ajihad shook his head, knowing that she was referring to the Twins. And he seemed to know that they had gone, for he didn't even bother looking for them. How? "Deep down, you know this. So, how do you expect me to believe it?"

He stood, as if his impressive height would frighten her into submission.

"You would be safer giving your allegiance to the Varden than a Lethrblaka or any other creature of evil, for that matter. I know you to be a powerful magician Lenora; why, do you suppose, would I allow myself to be placed in such potential danger unless I trusted you to be on our side? There is nowhere else for you to go, as long as you want to bring Galbatorix to his knees."

With a single hissed word, the rope around Nora's wrists disintegrated into nothing and she stood up assertively.

"I won't _give_ you the information you want because there is no assurance that you won't kill me right after I do. Secondly, I won't swear myself to the Varden – not as long as those Twins are manipulating your strings. Thirdly, you only stand here looking fearless in my presence because you have half-a-dozen wards placed around by those…Twins. I can see you as a great leader, Ajihad, and maybe you are, but I also see those two snakes slithering around and, every time, I smell the stink of Galbatorix. I have never seen them before, but, whatever they have told you or done, has only been for some evil purpose. Perhaps you really are the just, fearless leader I remember from our last encounter in the Hadarac in most ways, but they have somehow blinded you.

"They recognized me, though I did not know them, and didn't even try scanning my memories. What does that tell you? One way or another, you are being manipulated, Ajihad."

"Enough!" he growled. Nora hated provoking him. She knew him to be a good man, but those Twins, whoever they were, were vipers coiling around his throat without him even knowing it. She pitied him for his position, but had to raise his suspicions. "Those magicians you speak of so harshly have been with the Varden since the time of my predecessor. They have my complete trust."

"Whoever they are, I wonder why they have been waiting so long to cripple your forces, considering the damage they could cause."

"Exactly. How could they be traitors when they have helped us for so long?"

"I don't know." Nora dropped the subject upon noting his stubbornness. But what were they doing? Were they why Galbatorix knew so much about the Varden? "One way or the other, you will not get my allegiance. I have sworn myself to one man and one man alone. That will never change – ever. What if the Empire isn't the only enemy? I won't take that chance. Do with me what you will, but, with what I have seen here, you will not find a servant in me."

Anger flaring in his eyes, Ajihad called for the Twins, who instantly appeared behind Nora.

"Make sure she doesn't cause trouble."

Nora wanted more than anything to lash out at the Twins with her mind. She was confident that she could easily overcome them, but she would die before she even got halfway down the stairs. Besides, she couldn't die and leave Murtagh with such an uncertain fate. So, she allowed them to suppress her magical abilities, shivering as they did so.

"You'll regret not listening to me, Ajihad. Before we part ways, you will regret this."

* * *

><p>"You have placed me in a difficult position by refusing to be examined. You have been allowed into Farthen Dur because the Twins have assured me that they can control you and because of your actions on behalf of Eragon and Arya. I understand that there may be things you wish to keep hidden in your mind, but as long as you do, we cannot trust you."<p>

Ajihad finished his lengthy statement with a sigh. Something seemed rather familiar about this dark lad who had accompanied the dragon and Rider. Lenora had been easy to place because of his previous encounter with her when he had led a party through the Hadarac to seek an alliance with the desert people. But he couldn't quite place the boy.

"You wouldn't trust me anyway," the teenager growled quietly and defiantly.

That unmistakable voice sent the Varden leader back into the foul mood he had been in since his meeting with Lenora. The knowledge that both of _them _were here gave him the sudden urge to lock down the entire mountain…or try at least. What were the Twins thinking?

"Though it's been twenty and three years since it last broke upon my ear…I know that voice." Standing and holding himself at his full imposing height, Ajihad focused his wrathful gaze on familiar young man before him. "It came from another man, one more beast than human. Get up." Slowly, the boy obeyed, his dark eyes darting between Ajihad and the Twins.

"Remove your shirt," he ordered. Again, obeyed. "Now turn around." As the lad turned and revealed the twisted scar on his back, the rebel leader held his breath at the realization. "Murtagh." Almost in an instant, he turned on the Twins. "Did you know of this?"

The identical men bobbed in surprise.

"We discovered his name in Eragon's mind, but we did not suspect that this _boy _was the son of one as powerful as Morzan. It never occurred–"

"And you didn't tell me? First _her_ and now… We will discuss it later. First I must untangle this muddle. Do you still refuse to be probed?"

"Yes," Murtagh snapped, slipping back into his tunic. "I won't let anyone inside my head."

Even for the son of Morzan, Ajihad felt a pang of concern.

"There will be unpleasant consequences if you don't. Unless the Twins can certify that you aren't a threat, we cannot give you credence, despite, and perhaps because of, the assistance you have given Eragon. Without that verification, the people here, dwarf and human alike, will tear you apart if they learn of your presence. I'll be forced to keep you confined at all times – as much for your protection as for ours. It will only get worse once the dwarf king, Hrothgar, demands custody of you. Don't force yourself into that situation when it can easily be avoided."

He had hoped to change the boy's mind, but, alas, it had no affect.

"No…even if I were to submit, I would still be treated like a leper and an outcast. All I wish is to leave. If you let me and Nora do that peacefully, we'll never reveal your location to the Empire."

Ajihad raised his eyebrows upon hearing Murtagh's first mention of Lenora.

"What will happen if you are captured and brought before Galbatorix? He will extract every secret from your mind, no matter how strong you may be. Even if you could resist him, how can we trust that you won't rejoin him in the future? I cannot take that chance."

"Will you hold me prisoner forever?" Murtagh demanded stiffly.

"No, only until you let yourself be examined. If you are found trustworthy, the Twins will remove all knowledge of Farthen Dur's location from your mind before you leave. We won't risk someone with those memories falling into Galbatorix's hands. What is it to be, Murtagh? Decide quickly or else the path will be chosen for you."

When Murtagh finally spoke again, his words were slow and deliberate. If his fate had been different, the boy would have made an excellent diplomat. Even in his stubbornness, he calculated practically every word that passed his lips.

"My mind is the one sanctuary that has not been stolen from me. Men have tried to breach it before, but I've learned to defend it vigorously, for I am only safe with my innermost thoughts. You have asked for the one thing I cannot give, least of all those two." He gestured at the Twin magicians. "Do with me what you will, but know this: death will take me before I'll expose myself to their probing, especially when I know not the fate of Nora."

Ajihad's consideration quickly switched to pitying admiration, but he had no choice but to call in the six guards from outside.

"Take him to a windowless room and bar the door securely. Post six men by the entrance and allow no one inside until I come to see him. Do not speak to him, either."

Once Murtagh was gone, he ordered everyone but Saphira and Eragon to leave the room; however, Orik the dwarf stayed a moment after the Twins' departure.

"Sir," he began, "the king will want to know of Murtagh. And there is still the matter of my insubordination…"

"I will tell Hrothgar myself. As for your actions…wait outside until I call for you. And don't let the Twins get away. I'm not done with them, either."

"Very well. And, sir?"

"Yes?" Ajihad raised an eyebrow at the little man's persistence

"What of the girl? I heard that you ordered the Twins to bring her here before dawn this morning. Why?"

"That is another matter we will discuss. Before that comes into play, I want to learn the story of our new Rider."

After the room was clear of all but Ajihad, Eragon, and the dragon, the man sat back down with a tired sigh. He had finally fallen asleep when news of the Urgal host had sent his men scurrying to wake him. Then came the planning and scouting, followed by his visit with Lenora, and now this. Despite his exhaustion, he was eager to hear all about Eragon's experiences, what had happened to Brom, how he came to be connected with Murtagh and Lenora, and so much more. Still, he chose to remain silent and collect his own thoughts until Eragon's own eager questions broke the peace.


	12. Fortunes and Freedoms

Fortunes and Freedoms

The large werecat patiently sat at the edge of the dragonhold lair, waiting for the two-legged boy to awaken. He was amazed by the audacity of his human companion. No matter what outrageous interests or ideas he invented, she would always jump at them with incredible enthusiasm. Of course, the trust was two-way. Just as he had pointed out Lenora, she had pointed out Eragon. The work of fetching was fairly traded.

In the middle of licking his elegant paw, the werecat noticed the human roll in his strange bed and blearily look out at the visitor.

"**Solembum?"** the boy queried.

"**Obviously," **was the tolerating reply.

* * *

><p>Exhausted already, the young woman leaned back, burying her fingers in the soft carpet. A sigh of contentment escaped her lips as the figure on the luxurious leather chair behind her massaged her dark curls with a warm towel. This was certainly an improvement from being the captive of the Twins.<p>

After Ajihad's wrathful recognition and uncharacteristic fury, Nora had been immediately placed in the hands of those disturbing magicians. The snakes in turn threw her into the deepest, darkest, wettest, coldest, rockiest hole they could find at that moment without a chance to bathe or eat. It was worse than any night under the stars. For all of the night's agonizing hours, she waited in fear, wondering what had become of Murtagh and remembering the only other time she had slept under such conditions. Which was better: a familiar prison or a foreign one?

Nasuada, Ajihad's curious and seemingly sympathetic daughter had somehow managed to gain entry. She had only tried to be nice at first, but her prying questions as to how Nora knew Murtagh and why she had run away from the court just aggravated the girl all the more. Nasuada tried to find out why her father would act so rashly with the prisoner, but something in Nora snapped. Who was this little lady to be digging at her history with Murtagh – her history, period? In the end, Nasuada stormed out, insulted and bitter – thanks to Nora's chattering accusations of her being a sheltered, brainless, soft twit. It probably wasn't true…completely…but she deserved it at that rate. She had tolerated enough questioning. All she wanted was to roam free under the stars with no Imperialist pigs trying to hunt her down and no greedy agendas claiming her fate.

But then, _she_ came. _She_ had stormed in, defying the pompous Twins, claiming to have spoken with Ajihad, and sweeping the sneezing, coughing little wet rat out of there. Without pause, she had wrapped Nora in a thick cloak and half-carried her into one of the higher, empty levels of Trojheim. A hot bath, a decent meal, and fresh clothes went a long way to putting color back in the girl's cheeks. All this was done with hardly a single word at once. Her new clothes comprised of black leggings, leather knee-high black boots, and a soft, tunic-like deep purple dress that reached her knees, hung loosely on her shoulders, and was tied with a black rope around her waist. She hadn't felt this relaxed since…since leaving Carvahall.

The woman was a few inches shorter than Nora, though her self-assured, eccentric personality didn't make it seem so, with dark curly hair, a handsome but worn face, and knowing eyes. From the herbs and potions scattered about the room and Ajihad's apparent willingness to release a magician of unknown ability and an enemy's daughter no less into her custody, she was a witch of great power. But, from her kind treatment of the captive so far and her attitude towards the Twins, there was no reason to worry.

Putting the towel aside and running her fingers through Nora's hair to get the knots out, the lovely rescuer finally began a real conversation. Her voice was strong, unwavering, and full of constant amusement.

"My name is Angela. As you may have already guessed, I'm a witch." With her eyes still closed as she relished the feel of someone touching her with such tenderness (something she hadn't experienced in years), Nora was about to return the favor; however, Angela interrupted. "Yes, I already know what you are, Lenora."

Troubled by such knowledge being passed around like gossip, Nora, turned to face the woman, halting the hair treatment.

"Since you know who I am, I suppose that's somehow the reason I'm here and not with the Twins. But, if that is so, why treat me with such kindness?"

"Partially, I just didn't want a defenseless child to be in the hands of those two longer than necessary. You would have been dead before the sun set again, if they had anything to do with it. On the other hand, _who_ you are is a great reason I wanted to get my hands on you. I know _what_ you are, as I said before; who you are is a mystery I would just love to crack."

The words raised Nora's suspicions and normally would have eliminated her gratitude-based trust; however, Angela spoke with such innocent fascination and understanding wisdom that it was all but impossible. Fully facing the witch and crossing her legs, Nora cocked her head, a smile teasing her lips.

"Why?"

"Solembum found you interesting when he spotted you in the Twins' 'care'. That is a rarity, though it is the second time in the past few months he has done so. The first was your traveling companion, Eragon."

"Solembum?"

"A werecat who shares the same fascination for interesting events and people. We were living in Teirm for a while, but he suddenly up and decided one day to come here, with or without me. I enjoy his company, so here I am. Besides, with you and Eragon here, interesting things are bound to happen."

Nora hesitated with her next question. She knew from her mother's warnings years ago that witches could be great allies and friends, but they could also be dangerous enemies. You could never be quite sure if a witch was being kind to become your friend or for their own purposes.

"How do you expect to find out _who_ I am? You could spend the next fortnight discussing my heritage, my childhood, and how I came to escape and come here and you would never understand why I do what I do. And I'm not telling my true name."

"You know your true name!"

"Maybe."

Angela eagerly gawked with her piercing eyes.

"With your permission, I would like to tell your fortune." A shiver ran down her spine. If this witch was as powerful and serious, if peculiar, as she seemed, a fortune could be a dangerous and haunting thing. "Consider it repaying your debt for me saving your life." The shiver deepened. Having a debt to a witch could be more treacherous than letting her tell a fortune.

"You have my permission, shrewd witch. I hope that whatever you see does not affect the compassion you have shown to me so far."

"Nonsense! Others of my profession may have caused people to be suspicious of us, but I'm an honest witch. I do not make friends and enemies on a whim. Now, hand me that stool beside the fireplace – the one with the basket of toadstools on it. Yes, that one!" As Nora complied and was resettling herself on the opposite side of the bench, Angela brought a small leather bag out of her pocket and emptied it of its contents. "These are the knuckled bones of a dragon. They have the true power of fortunetelling, not like those ridiculous crystal balls and magic cards the common folk expect of witches. Now…" Grasping the bones in her hands, she solemnly murmured a few inaudible words before loudly commanding, "Manin! Wyrda! Hugin!" and casting them onto the table. The bones landed in a crooked heap, crisscrossing each other and sitting at all sorts of odd angles.

For a moment, Angela simply leaned on the table with her elbows, humming to herself. Then, she finally stirred, frowning.

"Well?" the teenager asked, interest kicking in.

"A strange one you are. I honestly didn't expect… Well, anyway, I suppose I'll start here," the witch mused, pointing to a sign that stood somewhat apart from the others, two lines weaving in and out of each other. "This is interesting, but understandable enough. These lines… Your fate is entwined with someone of great influence and power. Trial may make you friends and betrayal may make you enemies. Yet even this is not of much consequence, since anyone close to Eragon (who is obviously the center of this telling) has the potential to make or break bonds with him." Despite the heavy words, the witch shrugged that part off as meaningless.

Next, she pointed to a mess of intersecting bones.

"Now, this is interesting. The arrow means that your path is chosen and set, either by you or others. Yet you also have two choices, which lead to pains of their own: For the first... The rose blossom on a half moon means that your lover will be one of great power and strength. The rose represents nobility and the half moon is power in magic; and you both possess this. Ah, you will be wonderful! Together, you will be complete and unstoppable." This puzzled Nora. The man who came to mind didn't use magic at all. Who else could she be talking about? "Sadly, while the two of you will be an epic couple, it will not come with freedom. Here is the clenched fist, an image of control and slavery. Someone will have complete mastery over you…and you will be feared. Perhaps having knowledge of your true name…?

"Then there is the other path. See how these branch off the other direction from the arrow? The crossed blades mean that you will suffer a terrible conflict against yourself and people you care for. This leads to the next crossed sign: the broken rose. If you take this path, you will be seen as a heroine among the people; however, despite the good it will bring, you will forever regret it. And then, over here, there is the storm cloud with the lightning bolt. Perhaps this is why you provoke others to step cautiously around you…danger…" She cut short with a shake. "The rest are too difficult to decipher."

Nora sat for a moment in the following silence before saying,

"Well, do you fear me, now? – Now that you see how I might choose a path that will end in self-glorification and untold destruction?"

Angela seemed to consider this question gravely, but she ultimately shook her head.

"I only know two outcomes of your fate, of which you seem to already have an idea. I do not, however, know the reasons behind your future actions. Perhaps, through the destruction and your own chosen slavery, you will become the very downfall of your horrible masters, whoever they are. Maybe there are other paths that have not yet been considered.

"And there is something that the bones do not say: All your choices and actions have, do, and will always revolve around a single individual. Your drive and very reasons for living are completely selfless. While you couldn't care less for the supposed 'greater good' in comparison, you always hold onto that one thread of reality that you know will always belong to you alone."

"And how you know that, if not from the bones?"

"I saw your reactions to the people we passed on the way here; you looked at every single one of them with mistrust and suspicion, as if all of them were ready to slip a knife between your ribs. I see it in your eyes…and I feel it in my bones. You trust no man but one."

The girl scoffed.

"That's not much to go on."

"I have my sources, child. Soon, you can rest on the bed in the back room. You need it. But, for now, move this stool and let me braid your hair."

Several minutes passed, the hair was braided into a wrist-thick rope, and the girls were back to amiable conversation when a strange look came over Angela.

"What is it?"

"Solembum is coming with Eragon. I nearly forgot in all the hubbub that I had sent for the boy. Now, there's some hot soup and bread in the back room – don't worry, it's nothing out of the ordinary. It might be best to leave well enough alone with Eragon. The lad is so full of questions!"

Nora laughed but complied. She heard little bits of conversation through the curtain, but she didn't want to pry too much. She trusted Angela, so far. And Eragon was…Eragon. He never ran out of questions and was unlikely to do so in the future. Besides, the room was warm, small, and dark, the bed that was doubling as a chair was soft, and the food was good and wholesome, filled with tasty mushrooms, bits of boiled meat, and a broth that filled the space with a homelike calm.

Finally, just as Nora was finishing her much-needed meal, the outside door shut, announcing the departure of the Rider, and the witch called her back into the sitting area. This time, Angela was frowning with disturbed realization and her eyes seemed to be trying to look clear into Nora's soul.

"Murtagh. You traveled here with _Murtagh_?"

Nora almost laughed. She wasn't worried about the dangerous girl that Ajihad had thrown at the mercy of the Twins, but she was troubled about _Murtagh_.

"Yes, finally. Why do you ask? Is he all right?"

"I didn't know he was even here until just now. Why would I know?" was the snappy denial.

"Angela, I really want to see if he's all right."

Shaking her head, the witch suddenly seemed rather sad.

"I will investigate into his whereabouts and take you to him soon. For now, rest."

* * *

><p>"<em>May my ancestors forgive me! Look how big you've grown!" the brown-haired woman exclaimed upon reaching the top of the stone stairs onto the balcony that looked out from the imposing fortress. <em>

_The toddler and his matronly nurse both looked up from watching the painstaking passage of a caterpillar across the circular area. The small child squealed with joy at the sight of the lone woman and the plump nurse stood in respect. From the center of the high courtyard, the shaggy gardener looked down from his pruning of the single great apple tree. Selena only had eyes for her little son at that moment as she scooped him up in her arms and twirled him around, causing the two-year-old to emit a gleeful cry; however, she stopped suddenly, her eyes catching the gardener finally._

"_He's been growing like a weed, Ma'am," the nurse spluttered. "I do worry, though. As he gets older, do you think Morzan will continue to keep him here? He needs companionship, not just me, and…"_

"_I know what he needs!" she hissed with sudden spite, the sword around her slim waist clacking against the buttons on her skirt. "Don't you ever assume otherwise. Now, leave before I decide to send a swarm of bees after you."_

_After the woman scurried off, the gardener chuckled before standing and saying,_

"_You never lose your touch, do you, Selena?"_

_Whispering a few words to guard their conversation, the woman rocked her son as she approached the gardener and planted a tender kiss on his lips._

"_I should hope not, Brom. Without my touch, we would both be in very big trouble now, wouldn't we?" Then, she glanced back at her wide-eyed son, who stared curiously at the former Dragon Rider. "Did you keep your promise?"_

"_Don't I always?"_

"_Then how is Murtagh?" She ran her fingers through her babbling son's dark hair. "Is he…happy?"_

_Brom grunted, fascinating the youngster by twisting a little shiny bobble between his fingers._

"_He's as content as can be, but I fear for him, Selena. I fear for his safety – against Morzan, against himself…and against me."_

"_You!"_

"_Yes, me. You know what Morzan did to me. How do I know that my thirst for revenge won't drive me to cause your son harm?"_

_She wrapped her fingers around his hand with the silver trinket. Murtagh, oblivious to the terror surrounding him, put his hand on both of theirs and looked at them with somber consideration. _

"_Because I trust you."_

* * *

><p>"<em>Selena?"<em>

_Sitting alone on the balcony with Murtagh playing oddly quietly with a stick at her feet, the woman ran to embrace the newcomer._

"_Ivanyel, it's good to see you." The tall, slim lady bowed her head sadly, letting her long, silky black hair drape into the reach of the squirming babe in her arms. "Is something wrong?" Her clothes, unlike those of Selena, were utterly regal – a floor-length, flowing white gown that flitted in the wind._

"_Nothing out of the ordinary," was the reply as the new-come child was set beside Murtagh on the ground. The little girl almost instantly reached for her companion's hair and gave it a sharp tug. His boyish protest drew shrieks of glee. Selena couldn't help but laugh sadly._

"_I don't have to be a fortune-teller to predict that she will have a hair fetish."_

"_She will have bigger problems to worry about than unruly locks," Ivanyel whispered. "Were you able to visit that supposed witch in Teirm to satisfy your curiosity?"_

_"Not yet, but I intend to when I get the chance."_

"_Do you expect hope?" _

"_I expect less despair than is provided by these little get-togethers with you and my son every few months. Ivanyel, what if there is still hope for you and I? We were both tricked and we have both come this far. We changed. We already supply the Varden with information. What's to stop us from eventually getting away?"_

"_Our children," was the defiant statement. "We both know that we can't get away without leaving them behind. If I left my daughter…" I shocking sob racked Ivanyel's frame and Selena instantly brought her to the bench under the tree, in perfect view of the now giggling toddlers. "She is my only home, now. You have a loving family where you are from, Selena. If you ever did somehow return, with or without Murtagh, they would accept you. If I returned home, I would be lucky if they slew me on sight. They are ashamed of me."_

"_You could come to Carvahall with me!"_

_Sniffing, the mother of the little girl wiped her tears away and smiled slightly._

"_You are kind, but, again, the children. I can't leave Lenora to such a certainly doomed fate. No. You make whatever decisions are necessary for you, but I will die before leaving my daughter."_

"_Do you think I _want _to abandon Murtagh?" Selena snapped. "I would never ever abandon my own blood. I can't imagine anything that would cause me to leave him. He…he has his father's eyes, but I want to see that he has a kinder heart. The only thing that could make me leave without such care would be…"_

_Her lip quivered at a sudden thought and her friend instantly responded. Only during these meetings did the two trapped women allow themselves to vent all despair and anger. It was that or go mad. _

"_Would be what?"_

"_What if I…what if I become pregnant again, Ivanyel? I want to have children more than anything, especially since it was Murtagh's arrival that reminded me of who I am…but I can't bring another child into this life of torment. I know that I probably can't save Murtagh at this point, as you seem so persistent to drill into me, but maybe I can somehow make it right."_

"_You know what the king has planned for them."_

"_And I fear for them."_

* * *

><p><em>Ivanyel sat alone on a grand stool beyond a large mirror, brushing her luxurious hair with distracted devotion. Never before had she felt more lost, more hopeless. Selena had died some time ago. Her daughter was already deep into her studies with magic and other lessons of the either very lucky or very unfortunate. Was there no hope?<em>

_The door silently glided open, but she sensed his presence as he closed in on her._

"_I just heard of what you've been up to," he said with a voice like poisoned honey. "I am…displeased."_

"_I'm almost flattered," she noted, setting down her brush and braiding her hair while still not looking for the intruder. "You know I won't tell you the who's, the how's, the where's, or the why's, so why don't you just kill me now?"_

_The sound of whispering steel was almost music to her ears. She sent a quick prayer to whoever was listening that her daughter would be safe, if nothing else._

* * *

><p>"<em>You daft fool! Keep running! If Galbatorix or the head stableman or anyone else finds that we were the ones that released that unicorn, we're as dead as a stuffed turkey."<em>

_Despite the danger, both runners laughed as they raced past scurrying servants in the halls._

"_I can't believe we actually pulled that off!"_

"_I told you it would work," the thirteen-year-old girl laughed, her long curls flying behind her. She easily kept up with the slightly older and taller Murtagh, whose lanky form swiftly sprinted toward the safety of the gardens. "But we're not out of trouble yet. If we can make it to No One's Garden, I don't think anyone will find out. The servants here…will be too scared. And everyone of consequence is meeting Sir and Lady What's-Their-Faces."_

_"Won't you be missed?" Murtagh asked, suddenly worried._

"_I told my father that you and I were outside the castle training with our horses and that I would be at the ball later…not that I'll stay any longer than I have to. Why don't you come?"_

"_Eh, you know I don't like those things."_

"_Neither do I, but at least you don't _have_ to go."_

_Charging through the winding garden paths, the youngsters breathlessly ended their race as they tumbled under the hollow bush. For a panicked moment, they listened for pursuers, but, finding none, they grinned at their victory._

"_That was a close one," Murtagh grumbled. "How do you always drag me on these harebrained adventures?"_

"_Because I'm your best friend. Thank you so much for helping me save that unicorn. I didn't even know they existed until Durza dragged him into the castle ranting about some infinitely powerful spell that could be performed through the poor creature."_

"_I thought they were just legends. If that sorcerer had had his way, they would have been."_

"_Good thing he didn't catch us. Otherwise…"_

_Another voice interrupted._

"_You would have been in very big trouble, little lady."_

_In a flash of movement, a lean hand reached into the bush, grabbed Nora by the hair, and dragged her out. While Murtagh yelled in alarmed protest, the girl quickly summoned all of her magical knowledge and a flood of ancient words poured from her mouth._

_With a scream of rage, Durza dropped her and fled the garden. Nora collapsed on impact, breathing heavily from the lack of energy from the spell._

"_Nora, what did you do? What were you thinking?" Murtagh demanded, kneeling next to her._

"_I…banished him from…the garden," she gasped. "Took…too much…energy. No one can find out, but…I'm too weak to even stand!"_

"_Then take some of my strength," he stated calmly._

"_Are you crazy?" Nora exclaimed, face still planted to the ground. "I wouldn't do that even if I knew how!"_

"_Be creative! You're good at that."_

"_But I might hurt you."_

"_I would really be hurting if your father found you in this state. Now come on!"_

_Trembling, Nora closed her eyes and tentatively reached out to Murtagh. She could sense his life like a burning candle from which she could take some flame to strengthen herself. But she was worried. No one had ever told her that taking energy from another being was possible, except in the case of a dragon and Rider like Galbatorix – they had a special bond. By taking Murtagh's strength, she could kill him or permanently disable him._

"_I can't."_

"_Nora…" The lad's boyish voice took on a lower key. "Just do it."_

_Stunned by his sternness, Nora closed her eyes and reached out to him with her mind with invisible tendrils of thought._

_Suddenly, she heard a soft thud as Murtagh collapsed beside her. Feeling stronger, the girl instantly yelled at him as loud as was safe. _

"_Murtagh, wake up this instant! You are not going to die on me, nor am I going to drag you back to the castle in this state. I'll get in just as much trouble as you if you're in a coma for a month. Murtagh, listen to me!"_

_A desperate slap caused the now weaker Murtagh to bolt upright, fully awake._

"_You slapped me!"_

"_You fainted," she snapped. "And scared the living daylights out of me."_

"_I didn't faint. I passed out. I didn't expect losing energy to feel quite like that."_

"_And what did you expect?"_

"_I don't know."_

"_Fine, but let's get to the stables before it's discovered that we were in the palace this whole time. Maybe we can go around the fortress to the city below," she suggested, allowing Murtagh to help her stand. "Thank you for helping me."_

_He shrugged._

"_Any time."_

"_And, by the way, you did faint."_

* * *

><p>"<em>Careful, careful, now!" the red-haired magician hissed, jumping away as Nora's conjured fireballs nearly grazed him. "You're supposed to hit the target, not me."<em>

_The young woman in the maroon tunic and black leggings scowled, tossing her lengthy braid aside. The large, empty rock chamber had been cleared specifically for practicing magic. Galbatorix, as she had discovered, was hoping to turn Nora into a weapon-slash-bodyguard-slash-spy-slash-assassin. She hoped to ruin those plans, eventually._

"_Someday, you will be the target, Durza. However loyal you may pretend to be to Galbatorix, I know that you have plans of your own. And you've been after me ever since my mother died. What is your plan anyway?"_

"_Hold your tongue and pay attention," the man snapped, grinning in a rather eerie fashion. "Now, in the highest corner of this hall is a moth. Take control of it, bring it to your hand, and kill it while using as little of your energy as possible."_

_Sweating from exertion, Nora was more than happy about not wasting energy, but she pitied the coming fate of the moth. They had been at this lesson for the past three hours without any sign of halting._

"_Wait! I have a better plan," a voice said, booming throughout the room though the man was only speaking normally. Galbatorix came into the torchlight, smiling slightly with three men in tow – two guards and a captive. "Lenora, I have watched your progress of late and I am impressed. Few can reach your level in magic, let alone at fifteen. I think you are ready for a new teacher."_

_Nora's eyes narrowed. From Durza, a Shade, what could the king possibly have in mind?_

"_Who?"_

"_Me, of course. I have to know the abilities of my future most trusted servant." Her stomach dropped. And she was hardly a servant! "Now, there are many things that I must tell you – secrets of power that only I know. And, after that and after you freshen up, I will summon you and Murtagh to my throne room. There is much we must discuss." Nora stared suspiciously. She couldn't remember the last time the king was so…excited. "But, first, in order to…graduate from this part of your training, I need one small assurance from you."_

_With a cunning glint in his dark eyes, Galbatorix pointed to the captive, who stood tall despite his depressing circumstances._

"_This man," the king continued, "is a Varden spy under orders to bring incredibly sensitive information back to our enemies. He was just making his escape when the guards caught him." Sadness seeped into his voice. "Unfortunately, he killed five of our best warriors before he was subdued. In order to be sure of your loyalties, there is one thing I require of you: Kill him."_

_Nora stammered._

"_What?"_

"_Kill. Him."_

_It seemed like hours passing. The eyes of Durza, Galbatorix, and the two guards were boring into her, waiting for her to either commit murder or declare herself their enemy through inaction. She could only imagine what they would do to her in the case of the latter – perhaps force her to swear allegiance right then. At least he hadn't forced her to swear allegiance to him in the ancient language, yet. He was probably saving it for the day he decided that her training was complete._

_The waiting victim was a man in his late thirties with wavy black hair, blue eyes, a flat nose, a scraggly beard, and a strong, stocky build. His clothes were fine but simple. His eyes weren't threatening in any way, nor did they show the defeat that he inevitably felt – they were just…determined. He looked like he belonged on a farm, not in the king's castle waiting to be executed for only fighting for his freedom._

_As she studied the man, a complete sadness enveloped Nora. This was the moment when she would either become a martyr or a killer. She would have to either submit to her feelings or harden herself forever. If she declined, she would certainly lose her freedom and, possibly, her life, both of which were luxuries, at this point. If she obeyed, she would forever be branded a killer – by herself, if no one else._

_Lenora looked directly into the man's eyes and made a vow to herself: She would burn them into her memory; from that day on, she would remember the face of every single person she killed. And she hoped that her present trainers would be among them, someday. _

_Then, she whispered two words that stopped the man's heart forever._

_And she didn't even know his name._

_Faces, names, accusing and despairing eyes all closed in around her… _

"No! No! Why?" Her high-pitched, sobbing scream echoed through the stuffy room. Rolling to the edge of the bed, Nora groaned at her soreness. "Barzul!"

Angela jogged through the doorway, but stopped short upon seeing that the girl was all right.

"From your screeching, I thought there was a wild boar in here. I wouldn't think that a dream would frighten someone like you. Did one of my scraps of foretelling hit a chord, perhaps?"

"I only have one question for you Angela," the girl gasped, trying to push her dreams out of her mind. Not all had been her memories, she knew, but they were real.

"Yes?"

"Did Selena ever find you?"

The witch stared with a stunned smirk.

"Yes, she did."

"Did she find hope?" Angela shook her head sadly. "Is there hope?" the girl persisted, suddenly overcome by the reality of her dreams.

"There's always hope, child."

"Whispering world,  
>A sigh of sighs,<br>The ebb and the flow  
>Of the ocean tides,<br>One breath, one word  
>May end or may start<br>A hope in a place of the lover's heart…"

-Enya


	13. Faces Like Mine

Thank you all who reviewed! As seems traditional lately, I apologize for the wait, but I had finals and I just started my Winter break. :D I'm already well on my way with the next chapter, which will have plenty of good stuff. Suggestions for battles, Eldest, more OCs, or anything related to the story are more than welcome, as always!

Faces Like Mine

'Should i give up,  
>Or should i just keep chasing pavements?<br>Even if it leads nowhere,  
>Or would it be a waste?<br>Even If i knew my place should i leave it there?  
>Should i give up,<br>Or should i just keep chasing pavements?  
>Even if it leads nowhere.'- Adele<p>

"I wanted to thank you, Angela…for everything. There are few people who win my trust, and even fewer who win it in the short time you have accomplished. I don't know what it is about you that makes me feel so safe... If you hadn't taken custody before the Twins had a chance to…"

Nora cut herself off without finishing her sentence. Her expression didn't show the horror she felt around the two identical magicians, but the witch understood and put a hand on the girl's shoulder to show it.

"I'm flattered, child, but it wasn't a completely selfless thing. I saw that cloud around you; I just couldn't resist the chance to tell your fortune. And I found our conversations more than worth the effort to get you out."

"Do you fear me, now?"

"Why should I fear you? I pity you for your path and envy you for your loyalty, though they may be your downfall…but I'm not going to be afraid of an eighteen-year-old girl with a barely-bloomed spark of magic."

"I appreciate the sentiment…but what about the others? What about Eragon and…the elf?"

Angela scoffed.

"Arya will just have to swallow that massive pride of hers a bit. You're the first person in a long time who made her question her people."

"Hopefully that happens before rather than after she murders me in my sleep."

The older woman chuckled and snapped an order to one of the several guards beside a small gray door in the hall. Noting Angela's permissive nod, Nora stopped the dwarf from banging on the door and slipped in.

The room within, though dark with the night, was warm and homey with a fully furnished writing desk, a plush rug, and a stout bed. She sniffed with indignation. Of course the son of Morzan would be treated better than her. On the bed, under soft black fur blanketing and laying on his side facing her, was Murtagh.

But something was strange – different – about the scene. The arm under him wasn't habitually crooked to reach under the pillow for the dagger that wasn't there; instead, it was dangling over the side of the bed. His face wasn't tense with his eyebrows furrowed; instead, it was relaxed and almost childlike in its softness, though his chin still held a manly strength.

With her leather boots noiselessly slipping across the fuzzy floor, Nora knelt down beside the bed, unblinkingly staring at him. Though she paused a couple of times, she leaned against the mattress, her face inches from his, and reached her hand out. She then proceeded to run her fingers gently through his dark, shaggy hair. He didn't move. It would have concerned her normally, but his breathing was regular, so perhaps he was just feeling…secure.

Suddenly realizing how much she enjoyed the sensation of his hair between her fingers, Nora smiled to herself and kept combing away in the warm darkness. No one could know. Most of the time, she didn't even allow herself to believe it. He was the only person she had ever truly trusted and the only person she had ever…

However much she turned his mild advancements down, it pained her. By the stars, how it pained her! For years, they had faced this choice. It was obvious, but agonizing. In truth, all she wanted was to stand by his side for eternity. She had always felt sorry for Murtagh during their childhood, and he for her. But that pity had been accompanied by friendship – and that grew to something more. But she could never tell him. Not now. Not yet. Their defiance was costing them their desire. Had they made the right decision? Freedom for feeling?

What was feeling? After all, Nora had spent her entire life hardening herself against any weakness, including feelings. She was a brick wall. Nothing could hurt her. Nothing but one thing. Her main goal was to survive. To survive and never return to the captivity and slavery of her childhood. She would rather die than go back. Unless… Was there really an 'unless'? Was she really that…loyal?

Suddenly, Murtagh's face grew tense, probably from a bad dream. Realizing that she had stopped fiddling his hair due to her musing, Nora went back to her methodical stroking.

* * *

><p>Murtagh knew he was dreaming. It was just one of his usual horrors of having his freedom taken away and Galbatorix having control over his mind, knowing his every secret and dictating his every movement.<p>

_He was kneeling in that horrid throne room, defeated with his new master ranting before him, just like he had during the events leading up to Murtagh's escape. But, this time, the king was happy about it. He was going on and on about his future kingdom and the 'insurance' he was about to bring about._

"_I think you will approve," he crowed, his beady black eyes dancing with fitful glee as an invisible door opened to allow a new personage inside the room._

_The woman who entered had voluminous black hair that clashed disconcertingly with the blood-red gown she was wearing. Her fine lips were upturned in a malicious, greedy smirk and her eyes that normally reminded the boy of a chilly winter sky were just as dark as those of the king. Murtagh shook his head, unable to understand why Nora would be standing side-by-side with the man she always swore to destroy. _

_But then, at the beautiful lady's cue, gray, veiled servants came through the doorway, bringing with them the Varden leader Ajihad, a stocky old dwarf with a crown on his head, a silver-haired male elf, and Nasuada, Ajihad's kind daughter. The watcher could see shadows of more victims approaching the untraceable light; however, with another signal from Nora, they all stopped and all evidence of them disappeared. _

_While everything else in the room, king and captives, faded away, Murtagh watched Nora become the only solid thing visible. Her leering smugness had disappeared and, in its place, was a sorrowful, heartbroken, loving expression. The rich gown was now just a dirty, shredded version of her usual practical getup and her hair was frizzy and tangled.  
><em>

_Kneeling down with him, the girl reached up and ran her fingers through his hair, her touch like the whisper of a dove to the ears. But her eyes remained the same color of haunting midnight. And her voice – a terrible mix of agonizing pain and inexpressible joy._

"_Didn't we swear to not let this happen until he was gone? Why did this happen? How could you let this happen? How can I love you and hate you? How is a heart like a dragon?"_

"_You don't have to be here, you know," he offered. Anything to keep her out of these nightmares._

_The playing fingers suddenly gripped his hair with painful strength and her voice hardened as though she was about to enter battle – how it was most of the time._

"_Remember?"_

Forcing himself to wake up, Murtagh opened his eyes to his dark, windowless, cozy room in the custody of the Varden. He breathed a sigh of relief at escaping from that vision, but shivered at the same time for the fright of it. What if they were really recaptured by Galbatorix? All that running and planning and lying would be for nothing.

As his eyes adjusted to the dim light seeping through under the door, he jerked back. _Black Eyes_. Black eyes staring right at him.

Nora blinked in surprise and dropped backwards onto the carpeted floor, her eyes dilated from the darkness.

"Woah! Are you all right? Murtagh? What's wrong?"

Shaking himself, Murtagh slowly sat up on the edge of the bed while the woman remained seated below. He couldn't tell her that he had dreamed about being under Galbatorix's control. She would go into a ranting fit about how they could never let that happen. He knew it.

"I…just thought that you were…Nasuada for a minute there. She visited me earlier."

As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he regretted that chosen ruse. Nora in turn sat straight up, head high and eyes narrow.

"Nasuada, eh?"

"She was just being nice."

Again, he should have just kept his trap shut. Nora's voice took on an overly-controlled mask of vehemence. He wouldn't be surprised if she started spitting like a cat. But why would she be so hostile?

"Just. Being. Nice? That nosey pipsqueak! I guess I was dumb to assume that she'd leave it at prying where she didn't belong when _I_ was locked up."

"All right, she seemed nice. That's all."

"Good." There was a slight rustling as she moved to light a candle. "Now, tell me. Have they treated you well?"

At least they were off the potential subject of his dream. But he was still concerned for her.

"Surprisingly, yes. I was just thinking, if they've treated me this well and it took you this long to get here, where are you set up?"

That question was purposefully evaded.

"I'm comfortable enough. Just know that I won't be leaving you for that long again."

She didn't need to look at the man's face to know that he didn't believe her in the least, but their mutual understanding kept him from inquiring further.

Sitting on the bed beside her dear friend, Nora leaned her head against his broad shoulder and closed her eyes, a rare shiver of comforted relief overcoming her when he wordlessly rested his chin against her hair.

"Murtagh," she began, scowling at the rug. "Never mind."

* * *

><p>"Farica, why does she hate me?"<p>

The older woman chuckled, not looking up from her sewing as she sat in a comfortable lounge chair. Nasuada lounged on the carpeted floor in front of her lady servant, leaning against the cushioned seat as she did some needlework of her own, just to get her mind off of things – that concept was momentarily failing.

"What makes you think she hates you?" the matron queried, not looking up.

"She called me a brainless, sheltered…well, I won't dirty my tongue with her exact language. She doesn't even know me!"

"Exactly: how can she hate you if she doesn't know you?"

Nasuada just went back grumbling as she had been doing for at least the past half hour.

"All I did was ask about that poor boy locked up by Father in that stuffy little room…"

"Ah, there may be the catch."

"What?"

The girl turned to look at her friend, snapping out of her brooding state, shocked that the woman had been actually paying attention to her mutterings.

"Well…in your rattling on about your visits with these Murtagh and Lenora characters, it seems that those two arrived here together with the young Dragon Rider, yes?"

"Um, yes?"

"Well, doesn't it make sense that they would know each other, having arrived together?"

Nasuada's normally sharp mind was fogged by her run-in with Lenora. If frustrated her to feel so...clueless.

"Yes."

"And you said that you asked Lenora questions about how she knew the boy?"

"I did say that."

"And she only got offended _after _you asked those questions."

The girl put her head in her hands as realization hit. Of _course_!

"How could I be so foolish?"

"I can think of a few reasons," Farica scoffed, going purposefully back to her work. The thought downright offended Nasuada.

"Not true!"

"I didn't say anything."

She settled back down to her own sewing with a huff.

"The suggestion was enough."

"You have to admit the possibility that the girl is in love with Murtagh and asking her questions about him when she is tied up and unable to defend herself probably made her feel insecure and, therefore, particularly hostile."

"Interesting theory, but I don't need the permission of some jackal's daughter to show a little compassion for my father's prisoners. I don't see how a poor boy like Murtagh could be that dangerous and, aside from her flammable mouth, I can't see that for Lenora either."

"Your father does know what he's doing, Nasuada."

All of a sudden, she got a rather wistful look in her eyes.

"I hope so. I would hate to see anything happen to Murtagh. He seems nice, if a little rough around the edges."

"And the girl?"

Nasuada coughed.

"Of course, the girl, as well."

* * *

><p>The training field. That was what she needed. Even during her years of hiding, Nora still couldn't stand being cooped feeling useless. Since Angela had finally managed to convince Ajihad that she wasn't a threat (barely) and since her identity was not yet widely known, the girl was allowed to roam freely…mostly. Just within sight, trailing warily behind her, was a lanky, middle-aged man with blond hair: a magician sent to keep an eye on her.<p>

Enjoying the rare beauty of Tronjheim as she walked through the streets beneath the ever-present rose gem above, Nora sought directions to the practice yard and headed straight there. Surely there would be _someone_ willing to fight.

Tronjheim was a confusing place. It didn't take long for the wanderer to get quite lost. Half an hour into this venture, she was just about to ask for directions again when she faintly heard the fighting and yelling of the training field. But then, a meandering couple caught her gaze: Eragon and Arya. She thought of ducking behind the nearest building, but she was too tardy. She had been seen.

Nora kept walking in the direction of the training area, pretending not to have seen them, but Eragon called her name, off-handedly commenting to his companion that they had 'made one big circle' in their stroll. Good for them. Suddenly, the sound of fighting was becoming very distant – barely audible. Her ears had been playing tricks on her.

In listless despair, she stopped next to a blacksmith shop…tent…thing. It probably wasn't the best of ideas, since there were a number of varying sharp objects for the elf to snatch up, if she so desired. And, in this place, she wouldn't have a chance. She was a stranger; Arya was a revered representative of the elves. There was nowhere to hide, despite her quick look-around. Upon noticing Eragon's dimwitted confusion at her obvious want for an escape, Nora pushed a quick exclamation through his pitiful mental defenses. Without Saphira at hand, he was certainly no master. He only stared in shock. Idiot. As sweet as he was, she almost couldn't stand his daftness concerning what was staring him right in the face.

As they approached, Arya only stared with cool disdain. None of her feverish, passionate anger was visible. She was back to being an unreadable raven, cocking its head and waiting to peck your eyes out when your guard was down. If circumstances and fates had been changed, they would have been dear friends and valuable allies to each other. But it would never be so, as far as she could tell. Arya only saw the bad in Nora, not the good. She only narrowly saw _what_ she was, not _who_ she was. But maybe she wouldn't even like that. Elves were so finicky!

"Nora, how are you feeling?" Eragon queried jovially.

"Better, now that I'm being treated like a human being and not a mindless, unfeeling drone," she responded through a barred grin. "And how's the royal pain-in-the-life? Arya? Are we suddenly tongue-tied by pleasure of seeing me?"

For all her self-control, steam could have been coming out of the other woman's ears as her emerald eyes seemed to glitter with deep-set hate. And for what? Still, when she answered, her voice didn't show that break in neutrality.

"I am quite well. Now that I am not cooped up in the same hall as you, hearing ridiculous tales from that yammering Shade about how you were perfectly 'disabled' and that he would 'let me at you' if I broke."

"Oh, pshaw! You still forget that I tried to save you _before_ Durza captured you. Honestly, why do you hate me so much? I never did anything to hurt you…that I know of. Why so irrational?"

"Does that really need answering?"

"By the stars! You're just as stubborn as an elf! Oh, wait, you _are_ an elf."

Nora didn't know why she was so bent on provoking the woman. She really didn't want her identity revealed, especially not in the middle of a street with a whole trove of Varden members around; but she was honestly sick of the unprovoked enmity Arya had always held against her. Well, maybe not completely unprovoked.

"Arya," the boy hissed worriedly, "what makes her so horrible?"

Glancing at Eragon, the regal lady walked away towards an empty part of the market area behind the tents, clearly intending for the other two to follow. The spot had nothing but stone, a few barrels, and an outstretched field reaching the practice arena. When they stopped in the secluded spot, Arya turned smoothly and faced Nora, though she spoke to Eragon.

"I would not normally do this, but you have the right and the need to know. _Her_ name is Lenora. She is the daughter and heir of the very tyrant we have been trying to overthrow for all these years – the _princess _of the Empire."

Seemingly in subconscious denial, the young Dragon Rider simply stared at the women for a moment with a question mark planted on his forehead.

From Eragon's continued stare, he was obviously wondering at Nora's following reaction.

"Tsk, tsk. Now, Arya, you know I hate that word just as much as you. Princess. Bleh!" The elf's narrowed eyes hinted at a glare, but she didn't say anything. "I know, I know: 'Stick it in your ear.' …not that you'd say anything so 'uncivilized', you prim leaf-eater. You're too stubborn to ask for or even accept help, even when your life depends on it, but you condemn me for keeping a few secrets. You really are your mother's daughter."

Arya stared, though she finally spoke again, never taking her eyes off of the other girl.

"I do not have to tolerate such insults. Eragon, you now know enough to make your own judgment. Ask what questions you want. I have heard enough. _Garmdautr_."

"I _happen_ to like wolves." Nora scoffed even as Arya walked back through the moveable market, tightly gripping the hilt of her sword. Eragon was a sight himself – eyes wide, nostrils flared, cheeks flushed. Few understood her. Why should the only free Rider in Alagaesia trust the daughter of the man who was seeking to turn him into a mindless, heartless puppet? "About those questions?"

* * *

><p>At first, Eragon could only stammer. He had thought it strange that Murtagh and Nora were so closely tied, though they seemed to sometimes deny it with claims of freedom and promises that made no sense.<p>

"Galbatorix."

"Yes?" she chirped, cocking her head and looking rather…almost _amused_.

"Galbatorix. The king."

"Yyyup?"

"…is your father."

She looked aside, as if thinking.

"Yeah."

"But…how?"

Again she scoffed, crossing her arms.

"Seriously, Eragon, are you that _ignorant_?"

The boy rolled his eyes in disbelief.

"My point is: I never heard of Galbatorix having a wife or a mistress, let alone children!"

"Most people didn't know about Morzan having a wife either. And don't you ever use the word 'mistress' when talking about my mother. She was too honorable a woman to be used in that fashion, unlike others I have seen. She was his _wife_. She is what makes me feel unashamed to live, despite Arya's fire-breathing. If not for her memory, I would be nothing but the child of a tyrant with nothing to which I could attach any family pride."

"So, she's dead, I assume?"

"When I was nine."

"At least you knew your mother."

"At least we still have some common ground. Honestly, Eragon, does that bit of information really ruin our friendship?"

"You lied to me!"

"I lie to everybody. It's how I survived all this time. You don't blame Murtagh for his tactics, why blame me for mine? You don't blame him for his blood, either. A daughter chooses her father no more than a son. But why should I expect anything more or less from you, or anyone else? Because you're a Dragon Rider? Because you called yourself my friend for two years? Bah! I know better than to expect more than is already given, even from you."

"You trust Murtagh, apparently."

"Because he knows me; he knows my situation; and we practically grew up together. How would you feel if you only had one person that you could completely rely on? Not very trusting, in my opinion, because I know."

Suddenly, Eragon was feeling incredibly silly. He had accepted Murtagh, a stranger until their happenstance meeting, for who he was within minutes. Why shouldn't he do the same for a girl who had (almost) only ever shown him kindness?

"Would it be too much to ask if we could start that conversation over?"

Relief seemed to infuse every fiber of Nora's body as she unfolded her arms and smiled slightly.

"Very well, Eragon _Argetlam_. I am Lenora Ivanyelsdaughter, _princess_ of the Empire and Galbatorix's only heir, as the elf was so kind as to point out."

Hope you liked!


	14. Bonds and Bloodlust

Thank you all for your reviews! I promise the battle is in the next chapter! Merry Christmas!

Bonds and Bloodlust

Eragon's thoughts were in a whirl as he walked from the kitchens toward where Murtagh was supposedly being kept. After the revelation of Lenora's true identity, he had spent a short time speaking to her of how and why she had come to Carvahall – how she had first fled to the Hadarac Desert and encountered Ajihad, then Arya on the western edge of Du Weldenvarden before settling near the calm of the small village in the shadow of the Spine. It was strange how many chance meetings had found themselves centered around this girl.

One topic on which she had remained silent, however, was her mother. She wouldn't say where 'Ivanyel' was from, nor how she came to have child with the king, yet she fiercely denied the guess that Ivanyel was a mere pawn or concubine. She also scoffed at Ivanyel being the queen, despite her apparent binding to the sovereign.

One thing she was rather vocal about was her confidence that the Twins were up to no good. Eragon shared his experience of the lookalike magicians' relentless tests and was given a growling narrative of how Nora had been shoved into a dark, cold, and wet hole overnight before being rescued by a kind soul who wouldn't allow the Twins to continue their cruelty. In her grumbling, she also mentioned Nasuada visiting her and 'sticking her nose where it didn't belong'. "Why she should take such interest in me and Murtagh, I don't even _want _to know," she had said. Eragon didn't even bother inquiring as to why Nora was being so touchy about it.

Both the man and dwarf smiled amiably when Eragon requested entrance to the door they were guarding – not at all menacing or unfriendly.

"Just holler when you want to leave," said the man as his companion knocked on the door and unbolted the lock.

The interior of cell was surprisingly warm and well-lit, fully equipped with a washbasin, a desk supplied with writing material, a soft rug, and a sturdy bed with Murtagh himself lounging on top of the covers reading a scroll.

"Eragon!" the young man exclaimed cheerfully. "I'd hoped you would come!"

Eragon looked around helplessly.

"How did…I mean I thought..."

"You thought I was stuck in some rat hole chewing on hardtack," Murtagh chuckled, rolling upright. "Actually, I expected the same thing, but Ajihad lets me have all this as long as I don't cause trouble. And they bring me huge meals, as well as anything I want from the library. If I'm not careful, I'll turn into a fat scholar."

Eragon sat beside his friend, curious at seeing him so…happy.

"But aren't you angry? You're still a prisoner."

"Oh, I was at first. But the more I thought about it, the more I came to realize that this is really the best place for me. Even if Ajihad gave me my freedom, I would stay in my room most of the time anyway."

"But why?"

"You know well enough. No one would be at ease around me, knowing my true identity, and there would always be people who wouldn't limit themselves to harsh looks or words. But enough of that, I'm eager to know what's new. Come, tell me." Eragon quickly summarized the events of the past couple of days, including his encounters with the Twins and Arya. After he finished talking about his sparring with the elf, Murtagh mused, "I suspect that Arya is more important than either of us thought. Consider what you've learned: she is a master of the sword, powerful in magic, and, most significantly, was chosen to guard Saphira's egg. She cannot be ordinary, even among the elves."

"Quite likely."

Suddenly, Murtagh looked at the ceiling rather thoughtfully.

"You know, I find this imprisonment oddly peaceful. For once in my life I don't have to be afraid. I know I ought to be...yet something about this place puts me at ease. A good night's sleep helps, too."

"I know what you mean. Nasuada said that she visited you. Did she say anything interesting?" In connecting the dots of Nasuada's visitations with both Murtagh and Nora, he was hoping to satisfy his own curiosity.

The other boy's gaze suddenly seemed rather distant.

"No, she only wanted to meet me. Doesn't she look like a princess? And the way she carries herself! When she first entered through that doorway, I thought she was one of the great ladies of Galbatorix's court. I've seen earls and counts who had wives that, compared to her, were more fitted for life as a hog than of nobility."

A haze of apprehension abruptly overcame Eragon upon hearing that praise of Nasuada, no matter how he tried to shake it off. As Murtagh made that grand, royal description, he thought of Arya, his own idea of what royalty might look like, then of Nora, the true royalty, for comparisons to his companion's apparent ideal. Nora was certainly strong, determined, and beautiful in her own shadowy way, but Nasuada and Arya had that proud, fearless nobility that spoke of pure, spotless power. Compared to them, Nora seemed like nothing more than a pauper. Set against them, he realized that the princess was very much empty and unfulfilled, as if her potential had not even been tried.

"How long are you going to remain imprisoned, Murtagh? You can't hide forever."

Murtagh's demeanor was careless, but his voice was thoughtful still.

"For now I'm content to stay and rest. There's no reason for me to seek shelter elsewhere nor submit myself to the Twins' examination. No doubt I'll tire of this eventually, but for now…I am content."

Eragon then shifted in thought, wondering if speaking of Nora would ruin his friend's momentary contentment.

"Speaking of princesses…" Murtagh's jaw stiffened slightly, indicating that he knew exactly what the Rider was talking about. "Nora is free enough now, but I at least know why everyone was treating her so harshly."

"Harshly?"

"She's basically free, as of last night, but I had no idea where she was until just a little while ago. Apparently, she was in the custody of the Twins until someone with enough influence snatched her up. She looks well enough, other than being a bit on the thin side."

"I know. She visited me last night…but you mentioned…princess?"

"Yes. It explains how you knew each other so well. You literally grew up together in Galbatorix's palace."

Murtagh slowly nodded.

"She and Tornac were my only friends that I could trust even in the least. She and I… You have to understand that my father was Galbatorix's closest servant."

"Spit it out, Murtagh."

"We were betrothed."

Eragon coughed at the shocking logic of it all. How did he not see that coming?

"Were?" he stuttered. None of this seemed logical compared to Murtagh's previous daydreaming over Nasuada.

"Are – were…it's complicated. The king arranged it a few years ago to secure his legacy and his most faithful servant's son was the most ideal partner for his heir."

"Complicated? I've seen how protective you are of her, and she you. It's seems rather quite convenient, to me."

"Too convenient," he muttered seriously. "As soon as Galbatorix told us of this 'brilliant' plan of his, when I was sixteen, we decided that the only way to retain our freedom was to run away. Nora left first – the plan was for her to find safety until a year later when I could escape and send a message to her, a bird that she enchanted to find her anywhere in Alagaesia.

"By the end of the year, my training and studies had intensified to a point where I couldn't yet escape, but I still sent the bird with a letter of explanation – I suppose it was shot down by a patrol. The king probably thought that I wouldn't run if I was busy enough. When I was eighteen, as I explained before, Galbatorix brought me into his council and eventually ordered me to destroy Cantos, whereupon I decided to risk escaping with Tornac…you know the rest of the story. Nora told me of her adventures, but I find it ironic that she would settle near you."

"Sometimes Fate has its own plans. One thing I still don't understand is who here mother was."

"I know very little of Ivanyel, other than that she was very kind to me after my mother died. I know that she was a great lady – very fair and stern. Arya reminds me of her a little, thought Ivanyel was far more…approachable. For all I know, they're related."

Eragon couldn't help but laugh at the prospect. Arya and Nora related? That was like comparing a dragon and an eagle!

* * *

><p>"Angela, Lenora," the dark leader acknowledged, looking up from the reports on his desk and motioning for the prisoner and her momentary caretaker to sit. But Angela shook her head and remained at the doorway, looking suspiciously amused.<p>

"I thank you for your offer, Ajihad," said the witch, "but I think I'll take my leave. Unless you plan on trying to give her back to those twin pets of yours, my services are no longer needed here. In fact, I don't know why you called me. This child is not here to harm you."

"That may be, but…"

"There is no 'but'," the woman snapped. Few had the nerve to defy Ajihad's judgment out loud. But she was one of the fewer still who could actually get away with it. "You can either make an ally or an enemy out of her – and, if you have enough brains, you'll do the former. Good day, sir." And without another word, the strange lady retreated, closing the door with a solid _thump_.

"I demand that you release Murtagh. He has done nothing wrong and deserves his freedom. He…" Seeing that the Varden leader was not giving her any reaction, Nora fell silent and stoic.

Leaning back in his chair, Ajihad looked straight at the girl sitting on the other side of the table. She was certainly much more clean and fresh than when he had sent her off with the Twins. It made it more believable that she was a princess. But it was still unbelievable that he had the daughter of the enemy under his roof. The instinct of war told him that it would be logical to remove her from the picture altogether rather than risk her promoting and continuing the reign of terror of her sire. On the other hand, from what he had seen during their last encounter and now, she disapproved of and even hated her father and all he stood for.

"You and Murtagh have put me in a difficult situation, Lenora," he mused. She remained silent and staring. "What do you suppose will happen when your secret spreads and people find that Galbatorix's heir is in their midst? Will they find hope in having the enemy's closest link on their side? Or will they lash out in fear and kill you at the soonest opportunity? I can't let you flee for security reasons and I can't let you go about as you please for your own safety. Will you allow the Twins to examine your memories?"

Lenora looked as though she had just bitten into something sour.

"As with Murtagh, my mind is probably the only sanctuary I have where I feel safe, though that's not a very accurate word for it. Besides, those _snakes_ will only use what they learn against me. Even now, they're probably trying to figure out how to ghost me away back to Galbatorix."

"How can you think that they are allied with the king?"

"When you have lived a life like mine, you tend to know when you're faced with a threat as pure instinct. I know a servant of the king when I see it – they fit it like a glove."

"They have sworn their allegiance to the Varden."

"There are ways of getting around allegiances."

"And how can you prove this?"

"Bring them here and have them renew their allegiance in the ancient language – they can't lie."

Ajihad reluctantly agreed to the plan and summoned the Twins, while Nora hid in the shadows below the stairs. Though they seemed plenty perturbed about their oaths being doubted, the men ultimately knelt with utter humility on the faces and rattled off several solemn phrases in the ancient language, though they were too quiet and quick for him to tell if they were the usual binding oath he had heard from others in the past.

Once the Twins were gone, Ajihad just shrugged and chuckled deeply. It had clearly been Lenora's plan to listen to the magicians' words, but not even he, standing right in front of them, could make out anything from the two. The look in Nora's eyes when she retook her seat told a different story, however.

"Satisfied that the Twins now think that I don't trust them and that you didn't prove anything?" he queried.

She wasn't so amused.

"You're lucky I was here. _That _was not a renewal of allegiance."

"And how do you know that? I couldn't even hear them."

"Sire, they plan to kill you."

"And how do you expect me to trust _you_?"

* * *

><p>With a short yelp, Nora rolled away and danced out of the sword's reach. Though, with the ward, it couldn't cut her, the force of it still held a punishing sting.<p>

"Have you really gotten that soft, Nora?" her sparring partner taunted, twirling his hand-and-a-half sword to get a more comfortable grip.

"If you do recall, I haven't had much fighting experience over the past few years – getting tortured by Durza didn't help."

"That's no excuse. You've always been a ruthless fighter. A couple years raising chickens and scooping manure hasn't changed you that much."

"Oh, hasn't it?"

"Not unless you've lost your touch, like you claim."

With a growl, the girl attacked, slashing at Murtagh with renewed vigor. Murtagh laughed shortly at successfully riling her up, but he was soon concentrating far more on blocking his friend's sudden bout of cutting and stabbing. It was clear that her fighting had subtly changed – there were several occasions when she took a second longer than before to block one of his would-be fatal strikes – but she had pretty much the same grace and viciousness he remembered. She had once told him that she had picked up some of her style from her mother before Galbatorix disposed of her. Memory seemed to serve her well, for Ivanyel's fighting term of 'death dance' was quite fitting for Nora's tactics.

They were both wearing armor provided by the Varden and the training field was practically bare since most soldiers were off preparing for battle. After gaining permission from Ajihad to fight, Nora had spent practically an hour sorting through the armory before finding a getup that, despite her wasting of time, seemed to fit her perfectly – a chain-mail shirt that reached her thighs, black leather vambraces for her forearms, matching greaves, a steel cuirass around her torso that looked like dragon scales, and black leather boots. She had refused anything more, stubbornly saying that it would restrict her movement. Her hair was pulled back into a long braid, making her sunken cheeks even more prominent. Still, she did look rather...attractive.

After about ten minutes, Murtagh used his superior body mass to make her fall to the ground; however, before he could claim a victory, Nora kicked his legs out from under him and, before he knew it, her sword was at his throat.

"I have not lost my touch," she huffed, slightly out of breath, but otherwise physically ready to enter the battle that faced them.

As she sheathed her broadsword, Murtagh stood, copying her movement and watching her through his shaggy bangs.

"What _did _those years do to you?"

Her eyebrows furrowed at the question.

"What do you mean?"

"Why are you so distant towards me, now?"

"You should remember that I don't impress easily," she smirked, starting to walk away.

With a mischievous glint in his eyes, Murtagh grabbed the lady's wrist, yanked her backwards, and twirled her gracefully around into a dip that left her breathless and staring the boy right in the face.

"Impressed yet, angel?"

Fighting a smile, Nora bit her bottom lip.

"Maybe just a little."

The corner of his lips twitched with his amusement.

"Perhaps you haven't changed, after all." Suddenly sighing, Murtagh let the girl stand again. "Why do we hide, now?"

"Same reason as always," she said quietly, frowning.

"But do we have that reason still? If the Empire wins this battle and we're captured, you what will happen; and, if the Varden win, then there's a chance that the king will be dethroned eventually, anyway."

"Murtagh…"

"We had a reason for keeping that one secret, Nora," the young warrior interrupted. "But does that reason still apply? One way or the other, the result will be the same."

"Will it?" She shook her head, as if remembering something incredibly saddening. "I suppose you're right, though. Galbatorix decreed that we would be married as part of his plan…and… You're right. But can we put this aside until after the battle?"

Murtagh shook his head bemusedly.

"Always work before play. So much in common have we."

"That's almost poetic, Murtagh."

* * *

><p>"<strong>Look."<strong>

Saphira nudged Eragon's shoulder to get his attention. When he followed her gaze, the boy tightened his grip on Zar'roc upon seeing Murtagh and Lenora with their respective horses walking towards him and Orik in full battle gear, though Nora lacked any protective headgear. Orik cursed, leaping to his feet.

"It's all right; Ajihad released us," Murtagh quickly said.

"Why would he do that?" the dwarf demanded harshly.

The initial response was wry grin from the man and a blush from the woman.

"He said this was an opportunity to prove my good intentions. Apparently, he doesn't think I would be able to do much damage even if I did turn on the Varden."

Upon hearing that, Eragon instantly relaxed, encouraged by the fact that he would have such a reliable, ruthless fighter and friend beside him in battle. He couldn't really say the same for Nora since he hadn't seen her in action very much, but Murtagh obviously didn't have any objections about his friend jumping into the fray.

"How do we know you're not lying?"

"Because I say so," Ajihad announced firmly, approaching the group and taking Eragon aside. "Lenora is more than she appears," the man muttered before going onto other subjects. Eragon was still puzzled though. More than she appeared? More than the enemy's daughter and heir, and a magician to top it off?

* * *

><p>As they waited for the battle to commence, the little group lounged on the ground in suspense. Out everyone's sight range, Nora, who sat beside Murtagh, slipped her hand to the ground between them and placed her hand on top of the young man's. After a moment, though, Murtagh rose to check on Tornac nearby.<p>

Suddenly looking narrowly at her armor and braided hair, Eragon stated,

"You look different."

"You've never seen me as myself until now, Eragon," she replied with a slight smile, pulling the dagger out of her sleeve and flipping in her free hand. "You've know me as a farm woman and a royal refugee; now, you see me as the warrior I was bred to be. I may hate the king, but I'm glad he overlooked the obvious fact that I would betray him, no matter how busy he kept me. He made me a warrior."

"A warrior or a killer?"

She scoffed.

"Is there a difference, nowadays?"

"Yes," the boy hissed angrily, ignoring the flat stare he was getting from Murtagh.

"I was only joking. The truth is: I'm not honestly sure yet. What really is the difference between a warrior and a killer? Is it honor? Breeding? Morals? Discerning who deserves to die? Slaughtering someone in battle versus slitting his or her throat? If the king was poisoned this very night, would the person who did it be considered a killer for the trickery or a hero and a warrior for risking being caught and facing a horrible death of his own?"

"That's not a very fair question. The king is a tyrannical beast."

"The concept is the same. I will kill anyone who threatens me or my own – right now, the threat is the army ready to pour into this cavern."

Eragon stared again.

"So, if you perceived that I was a threat to you, you would kill me?"

"But you're not a threat, Eragon."

"Theoretically?"

Nora stared at her boots, her mind somewhere else.

"We shall see when that day arrives, Argetlam. I have killed quite a few people during my short life, though none in a battle such as this. None were meaningless and none were because I wanted to kill, but neither were they ever such a threat that I couldn't have run or otherwise avoided it, though with great cost to myself."

"Is that how you got that scar on your shoulder?"

With frightening force, Nora suddenly drove her dagger into the dirt, gripping its handle like a snake in its death throws. Her eyes bore into it, seemingly willing it to die. For a moment, Eragon regretted his questions.

"That scar…is not something I speak of. But…you deserve to know. I have perhaps treated you with less respect than you have earned. You saved my life and the least I can do is not begrudge you of a few answers. My scar… Galbatorix put it there as a punishment when I refused my second kill."

"When did you first kill?"

Surprisingly, the woman didn't seem annoyed by the interruption.

"Just after my fifteenth birthday, my father ordered me to kill a defenseless man, a member of the Varden, as a rite of passage to the next level of my training. He must have suspected that I would defy him on the second try because he already had an enchanted dagger on his belt. After giving me this...scar, He put me in the dungeon for three nights without food or medical attention. Then, he healed me and never spoke of the matter afterward, but the scar will never disappear. That was the only time I ever said 'no' to his face."

Eragon was about to speak again, but Murtagh's forbidding glance as he sat back down between him and Nora silenced him. However Murtagh seemed like a brother to him, Lenora was the point where their friendship became a secondary priority.


	15. Battle Scars

Thank you to all who reviewed! I hope your Christmas and New Year were fantastic!

Battle. Scars.

"So, are you sure you're ready for this?" queried Murtagh above the din.

"A little late for that, don't you think?" Nora yelled back, parrying a blow.

"You were barely able to light a candle with magic before. How are you supposed to…"

He cut himself off as the girl chanted a few phrases in the ancient language that caused five Urgals to simply drop dead at her feet, leaving her not at all visibly tired.

"You were saying?"

* * *

><p>Murtagh laughed as he sliced through two more Urgals in quick succession. He stopped, however, when a giant Kull charged toward him. As he disposed of the threat, someone called his name.<p>

"Nora?" he questioned, looking around between the blur of bodies.

"Murtagh!" the girl repeated, this time leaping into view with half a dozen Urgals on her tail. With an animalistic snarl, she stabbed an enemy in her path before turning on her pursuers with her companion. They exchanged a look of complete trust and respect before plunging back into the fray. It wasn't long before, with their combined strength, they managed to momentarily clear that patch of land of foes. As Murtagh landed the last one, he looked around for Nora. Finding no sign of her, he assumed that she had run back to the fighting and charged in himself.

* * *

><p>Lenora growled in frustration as she found herself being driven up the rocky incline of a pile of rocks and leaped lightly onto a two-foot boulder to face off the duo of Kull following her. Granted, she could have used magic to kill them right then and there, but that would have been a waste of energy. Momentarily, her blade caught the shorter Kull in the throat and, soon after, she did the same for his companion. Having been chased only by the two Urgals, the height of her position gave her a second to look over the battle and gauge her own condition. Concerning how the battle fairing, in a word: badly. The enemy just kept attacking in swarms with no sign of stopping or tiring, while the Varden soldiers were quite apparently sensing the hopelessness of the situation. They held their ground, but there was despair in the air.<p>

She _had_ been given an option to know more than just what her senses told her, but linking her mind to the Twins was the last thing she wanted to do at that moment. Unfortunately, Ajihad hadn't believed her enough to take action against them. Maybe she should have asked for Eragon's assistance in trying to prove those magicians false loyalty, but it was too late for regrets. At least Ajihad was safe, for now.

Nora herself had definitely felt better before the battle started, however much she enjoyed the thrill of fighting, at times. She had a now crusted-over shallow cut on her collarbone where she had jumped away just in time to avoid having her jugular sliced. A slightly deeper, shorter gash on her calf slowly moistened her left boot with blood and gave her a slight limp. Aside from being rather tired after an hour or more of fighting, she was otherwise fine.

The lady warrior was standing on what appeared to be the sidelines of the battle. The great Star Sapphire hung far overhead. A few skirmishes were occurring nearby, but it was nothing like the main battle ahead. But there was still something nagging in the back of her mind, as if the worst of this day was yet to come. It was dreaded, familiar, and haunting – a feeling that made her glad she hadn't had the chance to eat breakfast before the battle. It explained the actions and ruthlessness of the Urgals.

"**Where are you?"** she growled, tightening her grip on her sword as she gazed out at the battle for any signs of explosions, unnatural fires, or miniature massacres.

Just as she began to think that the sensation was just her imagination and prepared to reenter the battle, the sickening feeling increased tenfold and she raced the opposite direction. As Nora ran, the skirmishes became more scarce and the sounds of battle slowly faded into a dull, untraceable hum that bounced off all of the distant sides of the great mountain city. About five minutes after this occurred, the woman stopped in frustration beside a large chamber of Tronjheim, allowing herself the distraction of marveling at Vol Turin, The Endless Staircase that seemed to go on forever. All in all, it was the dead zone of the battle. But then something caught her eye.

In a blur of downward movement, a figure suddenly appeared at the foot of the Staircase on the other side of the open-ended room and staggered forward, clearly disoriented. Even at that distance, she knew exactly who it was.

"Eragon!"

Finding his footing, the boy looked up at the lady running towards him; however, they both froze as an ominous booming sounded below their feet and exchanged looks of utter horror. Mere seconds later, a deafening explosion nearly knocked Nora off her feet. The instant she realized what was happening, Urgals were pouring out of the dusty, newly-made hole in the ground between her and the Rider, brandishing their vicious weapons. The woman ripped her sword back out of its scabbard and prepared to charge the mass of attackers, ancient words of destruction ready to fly from her lips…but then, a final, black-clothed figure emerged from the hole on her side. Though he was facing Eragon, she recognized Durza instantly…the hated Shade.

"Kaz jtierl trazhid! Otrag bagh," he ordered, causing the Urgals, including those beginning to surround Nora, to form a circle around the perimeter of the room. Then he caught sight of the unintentionally penned-in girl. "Eitha du kona. How convenient. The Princess and the Dragon Rider both at my mercy. Tell me, my former pupil: Would you rather be brought back to Uru'baen in a royal escort or chains?"

She spat towards the sorcerer with utter contempt.

"I would rather go in a body bag. Garjzla!" she screamed, using one of the Shade's favorite spells, along with a few safeguards to keep him from simply counteracting the enchanted ball of silvery green fire flying towards his head.

"Losna du garjzla!" he counteracted, also using an unspoken additive to do his will and dissipate the fire into nothing but black smoke. As Nora tried to figure out a more efficient spell, Durza turned back to the uncertain Rider. It wasn't that she was magically helpless or anything. She knew that she could repulse many of the Shade's attacks, but there were many disadvantages to fighting one's former teacher."So, my young Rider, we meet again. You were foolish to escape from me in Gil'ead. It will only make things worse for you in the end."

"You'll never capture me alive," growled Eragon, mirroring the female magician's response.

"Is that so?"

"Oh, hang it all!" Nora snarled. "Vindr!"

A howling wall of wind instantly rose up and roared towards the Shade, but he did a backflip to the opposite side of the hole in the ground and started laughing at the simplicity of the girl's spells, despite their attached backups.

"Thrysta!"

Nora tried to avoid the backfire, but she had been distracted by trying to sustain the force of her wall of air after the retreating warrior and found herself thrown backwards against the wall. As the woman lay on the floor, trying to not completely blackout from her ringing ears, pounding head, and whited-out vision, Eragon, who had previously held back for fear of getting involved in the staggered magical duel, took over.

"You're princess is defeated and I don't see you 'friend' Murtagh around to help you," Durza sneered. "You can't stop me now. No one can!"

Nora growled at being referred to as defeated, but momentarily didn't have the strength nor the will to oppose it. Boy, she was rusty…

"Eragon, don't…underestimate him!" she managed.

* * *

><p>Murtagh heard the crash in the distance and assumed that one of the tunnels blockades had been collapsed, continuing his assault on the Kull before him. Several minutes passed in this way before another sound broke through the din: an enormous explosion. Dwarves, Men, and Urgals alike cowered in horror and astonishment at seeing the great Star Sapphire shattering above their heads. Murtagh stopped to gape at the sight, fully aware that there was nowhere any of them could go to avoid the falling shards of crystal. Then another sound: a tortured scream. Three black, ghostlike creatures shot into Farthen Dur from somewhere in the distance and bounced around the mountain like fireflies in a jar.<p>

Almost simultaneously, the deadly incoming rain seemed to simply stop in midair. As bizarre and frightening as it was, Murtagh didn't let it distract him further. All he needed to know was that he wasn't about to be skewered by a sapphire icicle.

"Angela!" he yelled upon seeing the strange fighting witch standing with the werecat boy in apparent glee at seeing the now-scrambling Urgals. Despite her peculiarity, he had seen her fighting the enemy and knew that she was the momentary choice of a companion for investigating that sound. The woman, having heard his call, seemed to practically read his mind as she instantly took off after the scream.

They ran at full speed, neck-and-neck, for about ten minutes – perhaps more. Everyone, friend and foe alike, jumped out of their way to avoid being mowed down by the rushing trio. The crystal shards magically lowered themselves gently onto the floor, but they didn't stop. They passed dueling Trollocs, skirmishes, cheering Men, and weeping Dwarves tearing at their beards until there were no more to pass – only empty city. Then they stopped.

"Where to now?" the boy asked, shocked that they had even run that far when they had no clue where they were going.

"I thought you knew where you were going, lad," the witch chuckled, bending down to scratch the feline-form werecat behind the ears. "I was following you."

"But I didn't…"

Then he was cut off by a new voice.

"Good! You've come!"

Arya the elf, cool as ever, though shockingly worried, suddenly shot out of the chamber ahead and promptly disappeared again, intending the newcomers to follow.

Upon entering the rounded-out passageway, Angela raced to Eragon, who was laying unconscious on the ground in a pool of his own blood. Murtagh followed at a slower pace, taking in the situation and trying to decipher what he could do. Saphira also stood nearby, trembling ever so slightly at the pain that was probably dancing across the connection of Rider and dragon.

"I managed to stem the bleeding and put a shield of sorts over it," Arya quickly reported, "but this is not a wound that can be mended with a whimsical spell. I don't have enough medical knowledge for this."

"You did well," Angela replied, seeming to know exactly what she was doing. Murtagh sniffed with a slight bit of pride. It seemed that he had brought the right person with him after all. "If Saphira will allow and if we can get him into the saddle, my quarters have all of my herbs and remedies, as well as a quiet and clean space for me to work. Well, hurry up! Let's get moving! Murtagh, make yourself useful."

Before the witch had even finished her sentence, the young man was already picking Eragon off the ground. With Arya's help, he managed to lift the lad onto Saphira's saddle, where Angela and a now-faint Arya were already seated to support him. Once the leg straps were secure, Saphira prepared to take off, fixing one glittering eye on Murtagh. The presence of her overwhelming mind, once he allowed it, was full of pain, sorrow, and victory.

"**I thank you, friend-of-Eragon. I will return for the girl soon."**

"What girl?" he asked, but the dragon was already taking off.

Then, the yowling of a cat caught his attention.

With prim distain, Angela's companion werecat sat beside a woman laying face-down on the ground with her forehead resting on her crooked arm. A muffled cough indicated consciousness.

As Murtagh ran to her side and helped her sit up, allowing her to lean against his chest, Nora's coughing became mixed with laughter, even as the boy scowled in worry.

"I…" Cough. "...forgot the cardinal rule…" Cough. "…of fighting with Shades," she giggled, coughing a few more times before clearing her throat. "Don't start with the basic spells. Vindr…how easy could that have been?"

"Apparently, quite easy," he growled. "How bad are you hurt?"

"Nah. I just had the wind knocked out of me…literally. Hehehe!"

Murtagh shook his head as he checked her for injuries.

"You had little more than the wind knocked out of you. The back of your head is bleeding."

"Just a little. I've lived through worse." Suddenly, she squinted at the werecat that was rubbing against her arm. "What? Oh! Solembum (that's the werecat) wants to know how long it would have taken for you to notice me if he hadn't pointed me out."

"Soon enough. And I am well aware that you've had worse injuries."

Nora smirked, turning around and looking quizzically at him.

"You, sir, are protective of…"

Before she could finish, Murtagh kissed her on the lips, something that obviously shocked the girl since it was something he had never done before. Certainly, he kissed on the forehead, the cheek, or the hand, but never had he been so forward.

When he pulled away again, he was getting two strange looks: a wide-eyed stare of surprise from Nora and a very feline scowl from Solembum.

"What?" he asked the cat. "She's my fiancé."

Suddenly grinning, Nora threw her arms around the wanderer's neck and returned the kiss with perfect enthusiasm.

…as Solembum stalked away with his tail twitching.

* * *

><p>"Nora, there is something I should tell you."<p>

Nora looked up curiously from stirring a fresh batch of soup on the fire. The time she had spent helping Angela tend to the Dragon Rider had been the most peaceful and enjoyable day and a half she remembered since leaving Carvahall. And she had both learned and taught quite a few things in the company of the witch concerning herbs, potions, and spells that both healed and hurt. Nora found it especially fascinating since she had spent much of her free time in Carvahall studying the plants and resources of both her knowledge of magic and the surrounding nature. Regardless of how odd Angela was, she seemed like a second mother to Lenora.

"Other than the fact that my soup smells absolutely divine?"

"Yes, other than that," Angela snapped, pursing her lips in annoyance at the still-out Rider next to whom she was seated. "And, by the way, you could use a little more spice." Again, the witch kept her waiting. Something was obviously troubling her. "Ah, it's nothing."

"Don't tell me it's nothing, Angela. You just proved that it's something by denying it."

Angela couldn't help but laugh.

"Oh, child…you are just bad as you...Solembum."

The lounging werecat's tail twitched in amusement. But then, a groan emitted from Angela's bed, which had been taken up by their mutual patient for the past day and a half. Both healers were instantly on alert, but he still didn't wake.

"Eragon, you can't keep on like this. The Varden need their Rider."

"Wake. Awake, Eragon, for you have slept far too long." He stirred again. "Rise, Argetlam! You are needed!" With another groan, Eragon at last opened his bleary eyes. "How do you feel?"

"I…I don't know," he replied with a cracking voice.

"Then don't move. You should conserve your strength," she sighed, running her fingers through her curly hair and snatching up the nearby gilt horn for Eragon to drink when he began coughing. "Here, drink."

After obeying, the boy suddenly tried the to sit up, instantly sinking back down with a look of apparent nausea.

"Saphira! What about Saphira? Is she all right? The Urgals were winning...she was falling. And Arya!"

"They lived, and have been waiting for you to wake."

"And Nora? Durza…he…"

"I was beginning to think that you forgotten about me," the princess interrupted, coming to the bedside.

"Murtagh and Arya...you wanted to see them, did you?" Angela asked, receiving a nod in return.

With a signal from Angela, Nora went to the door and opened it to allow the three people waiting outside: Murtagh and Arya, who filed in sporting bandages on head and arm, respectively, and Saphira, whose head and extending neck were the only parts that would fit through.

With his arm draped comfortably over Nora's shoulder, the former runner grinned down at Eragon, crowing,

"About time you were up. We've been sitting in the hall for hours. The only chance I've gotten to see my girl is when Angela kicked her out of here and I happened to see her in or on her way to that makeshift infirmary downstairs."

Nora refused to look at Angela at the comment, pretending to be distracted by Eragon's talking.

"What…what happened?"

The boy looked curiously between the three standing people's faces – Arya sad, Murtagh elated, and Nora probably somewhere in the middle. At least…that was how she felt. She was happy that Durza was dead and that she didn't have to hide her feelings for Murtagh, but she was worried about Galbatorix's wrath and what she and Murtagh would do after the rogue Urgals were rounded up.

"We won! It was incredible! When the Shade's spirits – if that's what they were – flew across Farthen dur, the Urgals ceased fighting to watch them go. It was as though they were released from a spell then, because their clans suddenly turned and attacked each other. Their entire army practically disintegrated within minutes. We routed them after that!"

"They're all dead?"

"No, many of them escaped into the tunnels. The Varden and dwarves are busy ferreting them out right now, but it's going to take a while. I was helping until an Urgal banged me on the head and I was sent back here."

"They aren't going to lock you up again?"

Murtagh ducked his head in a moment of seriousness.

"No one really cares about that right now. A lot of Varden and dwarves were killed; the survivors are busy trying to recover from the battle. But at least you have cause to be happy. You're a hero! Everyone's talking about how you killed Durza. If it hadn't been for you, we would have lost."

"Where were the Twins? They weren't where they were supposed to be – I couldn't contact them. I needed their help."

"I was told they bravely fought off a group of Urgals that broke into Tronjheim somewhere else. They were probably too busy to talk with you," he reported, rolling his eyes at Nora's scoff.

Then, the young Rider turned his questions to Arya.

"How come you didn't crash? You and Saphira were…"

The elf was slow to reply.

"When you warned Saphira of Durza, I was still trying to remove her damaged armor. By the time it was off, it was too late to slide down Vol Turin – you would have been captured before I reached the bottom. Besides, Durza would have killed you before letting me rescue you. So…I did the one thing I could to distract him: I broke the star sapphire."

The boy closed his eyes yet again.

"But why didn't any of the pieces hit you or me?"

"I didn't allow them to. When we were almost to the floor, I held them motionless in the air, then slowly lowered them to the floor – else they would have shattered into a thousand pieces and killed you."

Angela added,

"Yes, and it almost killed you as well. It's taken all of my skill to keep the two of you alive."

"How long have I been here?" Eragon persisted.

"Only a day and a half. You're lucky Nora and I were around, otherwise it would've taken you weeks to heal – if you had even lived." When the curious boy reached to feel his injury, both women leapt forward in panic and worry, Angela catching his wrist. "Eragon…you have to understand, my power is not like yours or Arya's…"

"And she wouldn't let me use my magic," Nora cut in with a growl, backing away again.

"You only ever asked the two times you came back from the infirmary more exhausted than if you had sprinted fifty miles, child. Eragon, my healing abilities depend on the use of herbs and potions. There are limits to what I can do, especially with such a large –"

All five watchers cringed as Eragon's investigative hand wrenched from its restraint and slid down the back of his neck, growing horror appearing on his face.

"I'm sorry, Eragon," Nora said first. "It seems now that all three of us have now been victims of the king's backstabbing tendencies."

Arya and Murtagh went next in showing sympathy.

"You have paid a terrible price for you deed, Eragon Shadeslayer."

"Yes. Now you're just like me."

The daughter of Galbatorix shivered, a bittersweet memory overcoming her thoughts. Angela apparently noticed and decided to voice her opinion.

"Nora, why don't you go out and get some fresh air. You've kept yourself cooped up in here with me for most of the day. And don't go off trying to heal all of the wounded again. You nearly fainted, last time."

"Yes, _mother_," the girl joked as she slowly complied, earning a shocked but amused scoff from the witch.

With a casual wave to keep Murtagh in place and a pat of encouragement on Saphira's scaly nose, she squeezed out the door and began walking towards…nowhere. Angela had barred her from both Eragon and the infirmary and everyone she would want to talk to were either in one of those places or hunting Urgals, so all she could do was wander the great high-set halls of Farthen Dur and…contemplate.

* * *

><p><em>Water. Food. Pain. That was all she could think about. Time didn't matter anymore since she had no idea how long she had been stuck in that dark, moist, cold dungeon. She hadn't seen anyone since Durza threw her in that cell for food or simple company. Galbatorix hadn't even come to gloat. <em>

_Was she being left down here to die? She had been rash in the past with the confidence that the king thought of his heir as too valuable to eliminate, but now she wasn't so sure. If Galbatorix really didn't value her life, what was the point staying in Uru'baen all this time?_

_By the stars, how her head ached! She couldn't feel her shoulder anymore where her father had used the dagger to carve whatever brand had taken his fancy at the moment. The wound itself had gone numb, while the rest of her body had taken on a feverish chill that seemed to sap her strength away even as the seconds passed. Was she really going to die in here…like this? At fifteen? Alone and helpless with no great deeds to be remembered by? _

_She regretted not traveling free across the expanse of Alagaesia or fighting in some epic battle or enjoying a wonderful romance or having a collection of brilliant stories to tell her grandchildren. She only realized just then how unfulfilled her life was. She had squandered it all needlessly without even knowing it until then. How could…_

"_Nora?"_

_The princess didn't know if she had the strength to reply, but that whispering voice urged her to gather her fading strength._

"_Murtagh, is it you?"_

"_It's me."_

_She felt his hand enclosed around hers, but the farthest she could go was turning on her side to face the lad and open her eyes. Seeming to understand, the boy also lay on his side so that he could properly talk to her._

"_Murtagh…you really shouldn't be here."_

"_I heard about what happened and I couldn't just leave you alone. I'm sorry it took so long."_

"_How…how long have I been down here?" _

_She shocked herself by the weakness of her own voice._

"_Two nights and two days."_

"_How much longer?"_

_As those dark eyes through those dark bangs bored into her, his voice took on a deadly tone._

"_Less than an hour, if I have anything to do with it."_

"_No!" Her desperation caused Nora to shoot upright…and pay for it. "Oh…holy camels! Don't make me do that again. Don't risk yourself for me, Murtagh."_

"_Lenora, I can't just stand here and watch you die."_

"_Murtagh! I won't let you get yourself killed for me. I won't die. I promise."_

_It was a bold-faced lie, but a lie and a managed smile seemed to do the trick in discouraging further insistence. _

* * *

><p>"<em>Out of my way! I am going to see her now if I have to break this door down."<em>

"_Shh. She's still asleep, Murtagh."_

"_Now…"_

"_No, I'm not," Nora groaned from the bed. "Let him in. I'm sure he will be more than helpful answering my questions." Once the door was closed and Murtagh had helped her sit up, she continued, "So, what happened? The last thing I remember was talking you out of strangling Galbatorix for the second time. I thought I was dead."_

"_Almost. You were down there a total of three nights before the king ordered for you to be brought here. He healed you himself…" Nora gave him a doubtful look. "…mostly."_

"_Mostly? That's not very encouraging."_

_Stretching her stiff neck, the girl reached to touch her previously wounded shoulder. Murtagh tried to stop her, but her hand had already reached the smooth ripples of the strange new blemish._

"_Apparently…it will never go away."_

* * *

><p>"You know, brooding does not suit you well," Murtagh said from behind her. Nora laughed, having no clue how he had found her leaning against the stone railing in one of remote levels of city where the people seemed like mere ants.<p>

"It doesn't suit anyone, but it still exists. How did you find me, Murtagh?"

"I always find you," he replied simply, joining her by the railing and moving the veil of hair away from the girl's face.

"Yes, you do," Nora whispered, turning to suddenly find his face only inches from hers. Those dark, thoughtful eyes seemed to pull her in.

Happy New Year and I hope you enjoyed this chapter! It's kind of fitting that I finished book one at the beginning of the new year… Anyway, just to warn you, I will probably be skipping a bunch of scenes in the original _Eldest _and _Brisingr_, since I'll focus more on Nora, Murtagh, and Eedom (the fellow from the Hadarac desert part), whose return is just around the corner. Thank you for all of your support!


	16. A Cup of Reality, A Dash of Hope

Thank you to all who reviewed! I hope you enjoy this latest update. It looks like my schedule this term might actually allow for writing. ;) Speaking of which, to anyone whose story I am following, if I haven't reviewed in the past...oh, almost year, I blame it all on my insane life right now. Still, I apologize...and I really am trying to catch up with your stories. So much wonderful work!

"Not all who wander are lost."- J.R.R. Tolkien

A Cup of Reality, A Dash of Hope

Lenora her wiped brow with a satisfied sigh, slowly rose from the side of the cot – one of many – and straightened her comfortable, cream-colored dress, one of several given to her by Nasuada, who seemed to be trying at politeness. Ever since Eragon awoke and she therefore had no reason to sit around Angela's chambers, the daughter of the evil king had been spending most of her time in the large tent-spotted field near the wall of Farthen Dur that had been converted into the after-battle infirmary. When she could, she used magic to heal; when she tired, she helped bandage the wounded. It was a bloody and sometimes tragic job, but never had she felt so gratified. Being a warrior was a noble calling, but this healing thing…it just felt _right_.

She had rejected chasing Urgals for this. Even the offer to meet Murtagh on his return with Ajihad from hunting down the Urgals had been passed up so she could keep up her work. Besides, she could easily catch up with Eragon after this for that little reunion, especially with his recent…difficulties. It was a puzzle and a terror to see her friend suffer so much from that scar.

**Just one more**, she thought to herself. **Then I'll go.**

Seeing the limp, still-bloody figure of a boy not more than seventeen, Nora was about to go to his aid when the ax-to-thigh victim she had just healed grabbed her hand. While he had previously been on death's door, his light blue eyes, shining with tears, now eagerly looked up at her. The yellow teeth of his smile peeked out from a thick, dark beard.

"My lady, I saw you fight beside the Dragon Rider in the battle and you have used magic words to heal me, just now. Might I inquire after your name so I may properly thank you?"

The girl smiled, squeezing the man's thick hand. Maybe this really was what she was meant to do.

"Good sir, my name is Lenora Ivanyelsdaughter. But do not thank me. I am only repaying what has been taken." Repaying what was taken? She didn't owe anything to anybody! How had this mentality of paying for her father's mistakes gotten into her head? She had been a victim just as much as anyone else. Certainly, she could have done… She couldn't have done anything. "Anyone who can help has a duty to help. I am only doing what I can." Suddenly, the woman stiffened in horror. "Ajihad."

* * *

><p>"Urgals!" Eragon cried, cursing himself for leaving his sword behind as he mounted Saphira and they took off after the ambushed party. Jormundur had gone back for reinforcements, Orik and a few men were trailing behind the rescuers, and Arya, also running, was surprisingly keeping up with the flying dragon. His scar twinged, but it was overshadowed by worry as a mysterious band of mist enveloped the fighters and clouded them from view. By the time it cleared, only Ajihad, the Twins, and Murtagh remained standing; however, they disappeared as the Urgals converged on them. Why did they have to be so far away?<p>

There were suddenly two flashes of blinding green light that seemed to illuminate the entire area and the Urgals retreated back into the tunnel. But what he saw once the field was clear and he was standing with his feet back on the blood-soaked ground turned the boy's stomach. The entire entourage had been slaughtered, limbs torn and the blood of the Varden yet again mixed with that of Urgals. And there was no sign of the any of the four last standing – nothing but blood where they had been fighting. More bodies were strewn out into the nearby precipice, giving evidence to some being taken.

"**This should not have happened,"** Saphira growled. **"It is an evil doing, and all the worse for coming when we should be safe and victorious. Where are Ajihad, the Twins, and Murtagh? They're not among the dead."**

"**You're right!" **Eragon exclaimed, half angry and half hopeful. **"The Urgals must have taken them! But why? They don't keep prisoners or hostages. It doesn't matter. We can't pursue them without reinforcements; you wouldn't even fit through the opening."**

"**They may still be alive. Would you abandon them?"**

"**What do you expect me to do? Besides, why would the Urgals leave such a prize as Ajihad's sword behind if it was a prize they were going for? The dwarf tunnels are an endless maze! I would only get lost. And I couldn't catch the Urgals on foot, though Arya might be able to."**

"**Then ask her to."**

"**Arya!**

Eragon hesitated at asking the elf to take on such a dangerous mission, but she was soon off and the other 'rescuers' arrived momentarily. As they surveyed the disaster, something shiny on the ground caught the Rider's eye.

"Where is Ajihad?" Orik demanded, his voice laced with concern before his eyes caught sight of the great leader's bloodied chest plating and sword and the five Urgal bodies surrounding it. "Barzul! They must have taken him!"

"I already scryed for him with water from one of the soldiers' waterskins," Nora said, suddenly attracting notice. "He is gone. If you don't believe me, have Eragon try."

"Ah, now a hornet's nest has broken; we'll have no peace among the Varden after this. Barzuln, but this makes things complicated. And where'd be Arya?" At Eragon's indication, he swore again.

A heavy weight descended on the company, but the trinket the Rider was holding seemed to have caught Nora's attention as she snatched it from his limp hand.

"Eragon…"

"I found it on the ground," he replied, suddenly remembering that he had seen Murtagh wearing the eight-pronged star pendent. "How did you get here? I thought you were at the infirmary."

The woman appeared to have not hear him or any other conversation of distress thereafter concerning the tragedy before them. She had hardly seemed fazed by Ajihad's apparent death, but she clutched that necklace until the prongs pierced her flesh. Still, her sudden appearance just after the ambush certainly held room for thought.

* * *

><p>Angela looked up from making some invigorating hot tea for herself as her door banged open, revealing Lenora, black hair flying and a figure-flattering, ankle-length off-white dress with slim sleeves that reached her wrists hugging her form. Thin white boots graced her feet, their soles stained red with blood. But her sword was gone.<p>

"You lied to me, witch!" the girl snarled, slamming the door behind her. As she walked into the light of the fire, Angela could see numerous tracks along woman's cheeks where tears had made their southern journey. She flung a trinket at the witch's feet, which, when she picked it up, proved to be a star pendant with blood on its tips. "You said that I would have a choice between the man I loved and becoming a hero myself. I never made a choice and he's gone!"

"Yes, he's gone," was the chirping reply, "but not dead as I have heard…not according to that wild look in your eyes. The last time I saw that look, it was my dearest friend and she… Well, like you, she wouldn't believe that the man she loved was dead, though everybody insisted that he was. Amazing! They always assume death when there's a disappearance. Oh well! I suppose, more often than not, the supposed dead person wants to disappear anyway."

Pausing in her ramble, Angela shoved the girl onto a cushion on the floor and handed her a mug of tea, along with the necklace.

"But if Murtagh is dead… I don't know why I just can't bring myself to believe it! He just wouldn't leave me like that! Not after not seeing me for practically three years."

The older woman scoffed settling down in her chair with her own drink.

"Hardly 'practically'! I'm sure there was nothing 'practical' about you life between running away and now."

Nora suddenly looked thoughtful as she warmed her hands on her cup.

"Actually, now that I think of it, _two_ of those years were the most practical since I can remember. As long as no one suspected me of being anything more than a noble's daughter looking for a new life, all I had to worry about was tending the farm and keeping myself busy. My life had never been so quiet and relaxed and…happy. For once, I was actually happy. With Murtagh, it would have been just…perfect."

"So you think Murtagh is the one in your future?"

"Past, present, and future…but he has never used magic. He even tried more than once and it didn't work." Nora suddenly shook herself, slipping back into reality. "What happened to your friend, Angela – the one whose lover went missing?"

It was Angela's turn to become thoughtful.

"Her beloved came back…but it was the worst thing that ever happened to her. For years, the world heard nothing of her. Then, it heard whispers of her name – frightening tales of loss and loneliness that should only be heard to frighten away evil spirits. In the end, my friend became but a shadow in the dark. Few remember her and those who do try to forget."

Nora slowly sipped her tea.

"I was hoping for happy ending, but I suppose those don't happen in real life."

"Toadstools and guppy fins! Of course they exist! It's just that most can't find the path to it. Now, child, you certainly don't look like a girl whose beloved might be dead in a rock pit. What makes you think that he's alive?"

"Murtagh and I are…connected somehow. I just feel that he's alive. I can't explain it."

"A bonus for being betrothed with a little…magical help, I assume?"

"Maybe Galbtorix did something when we were betrothed, but… If he is captured, then it will be for a fate worse than death. Besides, it's just…a feeling."

"Why don't you tell Eragon that he's alive?"

"Because, if he was captured or he abandoned me (which is highly unlikely), I wouldn't want to believe it for both our sakes, and because I would then have to bring everything out into the open, more than it is now. I feel terrible saying this, but it is better to die free than live as the slave of another."

"But I thought you loved the boy. Why do I sense doubt?"

"A relationship taken for granted without natural trial is no true relationship. I was hoping that Galbatorix would be dead before I admitted these feelings, but, as Murtagh pointed out, we win either way."

"So, if it meant being with Murtagh, you would join forces with Galbatorix?"

"I don't know - to love as a slave or suffer a living death in freedom knowing what he suffers," Nora muttered, staring absently over her tea. Angela, having had her fill of questions, from then on settled to silence and occasional idle conversation…until she found out that Nora had a painfully limited knowledge of the making of poisons. That would have to be fixed!

* * *

><p>"<em>Angela?"<em>

_"Ah, a customer!" the witch crowed, stepping into the main part of her shop. She stopped short, however, upon seeing the veiled woman standing amid the herbs and bobbles, her long fingers entwining themselves and caressing behind Solembum's ears. Surprisingly, the werecat was purring incredibly loud, curling his tail around the stranger's wrist as if to hold her hostage. _

_Her companion's uncommon attitude wasn't the only strange thing. The woman was fully shrouded in a loose-fitting gray dress with sweeping sleeves and a narrow neckline. Her head was covered by a fold of cloth and another sheer piece shielded her face, leaving only her brilliant green eyes and delicate hands visible._

"_**Solembum**_?" _she asked with her mind, cocking her head, curious if the creature's interest was strong enough that he would suggest offering a fortune._

"_**No,**_"_ he replied, pausing for a second in his purring. _"_**It is not for you to know her fate."**_

_At that strange response, Angela's interest peaked, but she restrained herself._

"_Can I help you, my lady?" It was obvious from fine cloth she wore that she was a woman of wealth._

"_I can only hope, Angela," the voice of a dove chortled from underneath the veil. Brilliant white teeth flashed in the dim. "When Selena told me of the fortuneteller she wished to visit, I didn't dare hope that it was you. It's been too long, my old friend."_

_Suddenly recognizing the voice and eyes, Angela allowed a toothy grin._

"_You came back! But why? How?"_

"_Can I spend the night here? I…" _

_Unexpectedly, the lady's eyes rolled back, eyelashes fluttering, and she collapsed. Luckily, the witch was close enough to catch her. And so light she seemed! _

"_Now, I won't have any guest of mine fall ill under my roof! I have many questions to ask you. Thirty years and not a single peep," she growled, snatching several herbs within reach and muttering a few incantations. "I thought you were dead! Ivanyel, what happened to you?"_

* * *

><p>One of the Twins chuckled darkly as he dropped the just waking prisoner inside the cave that would serve as their campsite. Murtagh had groaned a moment before fully regaining consciousness, but he had otherwise remained silent and motionless to avoid unnecessary attention, especially as the more serious magician growled,<p>

"We should have taken her as well."

"After being in our custody once, she would have torn us to pieces before we could get within fifty feet of her," the other argued, giving Murtagh a solid kick in the side, to his annoyance.

"She was closer than that when she nearly blew all of our brains out, including her own. You would think that she would have learned to be more cautious with her abilities, considering she is the princess."

"Are you blaming her foolishness on our escape? You saw how suspicious Ajihad was getting – asking us to renew our allegiance!"

"No, you can blame Durza for that. He was her teacher, after all."

"But the king will not be pleased that we let both her _and_ Ajihad slip through our fingers," first one worried again.

"The king does not need to know."

"The king will find out when he looks at the _boy_'s memories."

Murtagh cringed at the thought in horror. Being in Galbatorix's hands…it was one of his worst nightmares.

"True…I will take care of those Urgal pests we brought along…then we can scry for Ajihad again. He couldn't have simply disappeared."

* * *

><p>Arya stood in the shadows, having come upon Lenora in the infirmary sitting next to a dead boy lying among the now-many empty cots. Her face was twisted with heart-crushing sorrow and anger that could tear down the Empire with one fell swoop, if given the means. The watcher recognized that feeling. Even in her torture under Durza, she had felt it in her loss of Fäolin, her twenty-year faithful companion in her care for Saphira's egg. Arya's heart throbbed at the thought. Maybe they weren't so different, after all.<p>

"You can come out," the seated woman growled, not looking up.

Arya came out of the shadows and asked quietly,

"Are you all right?"

Nora barked a humorless laugh.

"I couldn't save this boy. So, no."

"People make mistakes when they are tired."

"I'm not tired!"

"I would be after attempting magic such as what you did."

Nora glared past her black curls as the elf sat across from her on the other side of the lifeless body. Her shadowed, tired eyes reminded Arya of Murtagh.

"I didn't _attempt _anything."

"No. You didn't attempt. You succeeded in something that would have killed me. How did you do it?"

A moment of silence followed with Nora staring at the body as if to bring it to life before she simply stood and began walking out of the infirmary. Arya followed her.

"I honestly don't know. And I don't know how I…lost Murtagh. I sense that he's alive, but all other signs indicate that he is dead and…I don't know what I'll do if that's true. Murtagh was…is…my only light in the darkness of this Empire. Ach! And I don't know why I'm telling you, of all people! You hated me ever since we met. Why are you being so nice, suddenly? And you won't tell anyone what I did, will you? It's for his own good."

"I will not reveal what no one will understand. But perhaps you should open the door and windows and live in the light."

"What?"

The elf had to admit to the weakness of pride, but this was a moment when that vice needed to be put aside.

"I…I misjudged you, Lenora."

"Psh. That's the understatement of the century."

"I heard of your valor in battle, your attempt to stop Durza, _and_, most especially, your work here in the infirmary. Of those three, the latter was something that was no work of pride or show. When I was here for my own injuries after the battle, I saw you heal several soldiers on the verge of death when no one else was looking. That is worth more recognition than any conquest over Urgals. I want you to come to Ellesmera with Eragon and I."

"The last I heard, I didn't really have a choice in the matter, anyway."

"But I want you to go on your own free will, not as a prisoner."

The other girl scowled suspiciously, her eyes haunted and guarded.

"Why? What happened to 'enemies by blood'?"

"I realize now by your actions that 'allies by blood' is a more suitable title for what I hope can be an ending conflict. And I don't want you to become a ghost as I almost did after I lost my companions. I was foolish and rash to deny your help then, as I was foolish before that night and since. I cannot see us becoming friends any time in the near future, but I want this feud to be at an end."

"Did I hear an apology somewhere in that spiel?"

Arya gritted her teeth in spite of herself.

"You did."

"Hmm. It was a little cryptic, but I guess it will have to do. I also apologize for whatever I've ever done to offend you beyond being my father's daughter."

The elf raised an arched eyebrow.

"That was an apology?"

"It's the closest you'll get." Uncertain of the outcome of that conversation, Arya inclined her head and turned to go; however, she was surprised to hear Lenora counter that move. "Um…I don't know exactly what is on the vegetarian menu in the kitchen, but, if you wanted, we could discuss Ellesmera a bit more over food. I always wanted to go there and, while I know that you leaf-eaters like to sleep in trees, heights and I are more enemies than you and I will ever be."

Smiling at the thought of Lenora having a panic attack in one of the elves' grand tree dwellings, Arya nodded in agreement.

* * *

><p>"There they are," the scruffy man chuckled to his quietly panting, equally disheveled canine companion as they hid in a patch of brambles in a small oasis near the edge of the Hadarac desert. Two tasty-looking rabbits were munching on some leaves by a clear pond – the soon-to-be dinner of Eedom and Duchess. Without a sound, he targeted the bunnies, hoping that he would only need one arrow.<p>

He had been enjoying his hermit-like lifestyle supremely since he had left the Imperial army, but Eedom was already contemplating the possibility of somehow aiding the struggle against Galbatorix. He had heard of Urgal attacks in the north from a traveler, seen tensions in the royal family from his encounter with Princess Lenora, and long known of plots against the king in Du Weldenvarden, the Varden, and Surda. He only needed to decide if, how, when, and where.

Suddenly, an ear-shattering wind and a flashing green light from somewhere split through the evening dim, knocked Eedom flat on his face, and sent his supper scurrying away. Cursing his empty stomach, the young man stood to brush the sand off. Strange things like that green light didn't faze him much anymore. There were strange things happening all the time – just like running into Nora and Murtagh, of all people, in the middle of the desert! He contemplated investigating the light, but food came first.

Then, to top everything off, Duchess suddenly ran off after something, barking madly and ignoring her master's calls. Growling, the former soldier reluctantly made chase.

At the top of the nearest dune, however, he realized what Duchess had found so interesting. An area of a good fifty feet of sand below was blackened and smoking, as if a house had just been incinerated on the spot. At the center of the blast zone was Duchess, who sat whimpering quietly over a limp figure. With his sword ready, Eedom cautiously approached what he now saw to be a full-grown, well-muscled man with strong features and ebony skin. He had seen people with this man's complexion in the desert here and there, but the singed clothes that this stranger wore were more for a king than a desert nomad. Blood soaked his tunic from what appeared to be a fairly deep shoulder wound.

Trusting his dog's instincts that this newcomer of strange appearance was worthy of assistance, Eedom managed to drag the unconscious man back to the oasis (the bulk of this person made him wish that Duchess could drag people not just when lives were on the line) and bind his injury, which would heal nicely with time. After finding the rabbits that had previously gotten away, making a fire, and putting the delicacies on a spit, the man sat back against a log and scratched his dog's ears.

"No jerky tonight, eh, Duchess?" The mutt nipped playfully at his hand and rolled into his lap for a belly-rub. "Sometimes, it seems as if you can understand me, girl."

A moment later, the stranger finally stirred and bolted upright, looking straight at Eedom with complete distrust.

"Where am I?" he demanded with a deep, authoritative voice. "Who are you and where are my armor and sword?"

Seeing that the stranger didn't seem likely to attack unprovoked, Eedom uncertainly continued petting his blissfully carefree dog and hoped that she was right in letting her guard down.

"We're in an oasis and my name is Eedom Stranson. As for your armor and sword, they were not with you when I found you."

"An oasis?"

"In the Hadarac?" Suddenly he felt that the man really wasn't one of the nomads. "I found you unconscious over that dune over there. It looked as though something had exploded." He decided to follow his instincts. "...and something tells me that it involved magic."

The stranger's face contorted with confusion, but he seemed to work it out.

"So…she really did manage it…when I didn't trust her judgment."

"Excuse me, sir, but it's usually polite to return a name when one is given."

"Since I have been proven a fool once by not trusting the trustworthy, certainly. I am Ajihad, the leader of the Varden." Food and dog were forgotten at that note. Ajihad was a legend – the mystery the Empire had never solved. And something in those eyes told Eedom not to doubt it. "How did you come by me?"

"I…was just hunting rabbits when I saw the flash of light and Duchess, my dog, tracked you down."

"And how were you here? You don't have the looks of a nomad."

"I travel a lot. Do you remember how you got here?"

"Hmph." Ajihad didn't seem appeased with his answer, but simply crossed his legs. "My men and I were ambushed in Farthen Dur by Urgals. My two most trusted magicians turned on me and then…nothing…here I was. I thought I was dead, but Lenora must have kept her promise when she said there might come a time when she would have to make me disappear for my own safety...but I didn't think it was possible. And, had I known that it was possible, I wouldn't have allowed it."

"Lenora? As in Lenora Ivanyelsdaughter?" Eedom muttered in shock. Just as he contemplated joining the rebellion in some way, the leader of the rebellion was quite literally dropped at his feet.

"The princess? You know her? Well, Eedom Stranson, it seems that you and I have much to discuss. But please serve me some of the scrumptious-smelling meat on that spit of yours."

Still befuddled at having the Varden leader as his dinner guest, Eedom rolled Duchess onto the ground and added a little spice to the sizzling rabbit.

Halfway through eating, Ajihad stopped for a moment to stare into the distance and whispered,

"It's like dying...looking back on your life, realizing that you may not be able to go back, and wondering if you did enough. Will you be honored a hero or cursed as a coward?"

The statement sent a sudden chill down Eedom's spine. He tried to avoid thinking of whether his friends back home had ever heard of what happened – whether they really knew or thought him dead or considered him a deserter of the king's army. What would they say if they saw him now? Before that fateful day, he had never thought that this would happen – that he might never see his home again.


	17. Survivors

Thank you everyone for your reviews!

Survivors

Nasuada cleared her throat awkwardly and simultaneously knocked on the solid, open door that led to the quarters of Angela the witch and, for some time, the Imperial princess.

"Angela?"

Apparently, Angela was out because, instead of the herbalist, Lenora came through the aged curtain at the back of the room – or rather, she looked through and gave a permissive nod before disappearing again. Looking around the cozy dark room with its crackling fireplace, Nasuada put on a bold face and confidently strode to the fireside, intending on waiting for Nora to come back out. She still wore her black dress from the events of the day under the deep purple cloak that had concealed her identity on the way here.

After the funeral, the succession ceremony, the meetings with the council and Eragon, and the painstaking job of slipping past the servants and guards to get here alone, the new Varden leader was completely drained. It took all of her willpower to stand in front of the fire rather than sink into the single cushioned chair just next to her. There was something about Nora that made her not want to show any weakness.

She had heard how, upon Arya's return from hunting for the Urgal ambush party, Eragon and Nora had been presented with the fruits of the elf's chase: one of the Twins' purple torn and bloodied robes and Murtagh's tunic and leather gauntlets. Eragon bravely bottled it up, but Nora…her demeanor, considering her clear affections for Murtagh, had not faltered – in fact, if anything, it had improved, other than snatching Murtagh's discarded possessions and hiding them away somewhere.

However, it was a little suspicious that the only person she really seemed friendly with was Arya, if friendly was really the word for it. The girl had attended both Ajihad's bodiless funeral – the heart-wrenching inability to find his body had been helped a little by the raising of a statue of the dead leader in the tombs, the making of which had been aided by a little magic. She had also been present for Nasuada's ascension to the position of the leader of the Varden. But she had remained reclusive and silent throughout all of it.

Nasuada almost sighed in relief when Lenora finally reemerged, fussing with a partially-full worn leather bag. Setting the bag on the stool next to the fireplace, she chuckled as she leaned her head on her arm against the hearth.

"I'm trying to pack as many of Angela's extra herbs as possible without needing an extra saddlebag. Thank you for the dresses, by the way."

Despite the attempt at good humor, the extra shade under her eyes and the unkempt appearance of her hair told a different side of the story. She was perhaps a year younger than Nasuada, but their lives certainly had not given them age-appropriate appearances.

"Why are you packing?"

"It's only logical that you'll have Eragon and Arya leave for Ellesmera as soon as possible. As I'm sure Arya informed you, I am going on my own free will." Nasuada nodded wearily. "Why are really here, Nasuada? It's certainly not just to check my packing list."

"Because I thought…" For a moment, the woman's thoughts just wouldn't stay in order. She didn't have the strength to resist when Nora gently pushed her back into the chair and set about making some tea, an easy task since the kettle was already on the fire. "Lenora…we both lost someone in that ambush and we both have taught ourselves to limit how circumstances influence us. I needed to talk to someone who…understood."

For a minute, Nora refused to meet her gaze, even as she handed the Varden leader a cup of tea and went back to staring at the fire with a warm mug in her hand. Her expression was strange – blank, but guilty, sad, and confused. Perhaps it was a mistake to try talking to Galbatorix's daughter. It was odd how the daughters of two sworn enemies could suddenly be in the same room drinking tea. Nasuada actually was considering getting up and leaving when Nora finally spoke.

"Your father…_was _a good man." The past tense reference almost seemed forced. "When I met him in the Hadarac years ago, even though he knew exactly what I was, he let me go. His mercy was as great as his justice."

Nasuada had to choke back tears as thoughts of her dead father overwhelmed her.

"Murtagh was noble, as well. It is a shame that he never had a chance for true greatness. He could have become one of the Varden's finest warriors."

"It was never our intention to stay. We were leaving together. Instead, we were parted again." Nasuada jumped a little as the fire flashed to twice its size before shrinking again when Nora's focus shifted. "Don't seek comfort with me, Nasuada. I am more confused than grieving. You...you will see your father again."

"I know," she sighed, thinking of what could possibly be waiting in the afterlife as silence fell. Was her father watching her at that very moment from beyond whatever pit the Urgals had thrown him into?

* * *

><p>"Nora," Eragon began a day into their journey, "how did you feel during the battle?"<p>

"What do you mean?" was the off-hand reply.

"The battle in Farthen Dur was your first real battle. Was it a shock at all to you?"

The girl looked down.

"Bloodshed is bloodshed; and heartache is heartache. I have lived with both." And she went silent.

* * *

><p>Looking down at Nora as he approached her from behind, Eragon couldn't help but worry. Yes, she was the enemy's daughter and had <em>almost<em> only been sent with him to the elves as a hopeful peace offering from the Varden, but she was his friend – at least he thought she was. They had hardly spoken since Murtagh's demise, even in their recent travels from the Beor Mountains, but he could see the hurt and confusion in her eyes. He only hoped to find some way to comfort her. Murtagh had been an even closer friend to her than he had been to the Rider...and Eragon was having a hard enough time.

Suddenly, as the boy sat down on the edge of the raft beside her with her removed boots between them, the girl's eyes narrowed at something in the distance.

"What do you see?" he questioned softly.

"Wolves," was the single answer, barely above a whisper.

He looked around in befuddlement.

"I don't see anything."

"They're there."

"How do you know that?"

Slowly, Nora turned her head to face the Rider, a flicker of deep-set emotion alighting in her eyes.

"Have you ever thought to ask why the Arya hated me so much? Or why the Varden would think the elves could possibly accept me as an ointment for their wounded pride?"

"I…just thought it was because you were the king's daughter."

"There's more."

Eragon growled in annoyance when she looked away.

"Lenora, don't leave me clueless again like you did with the Varden and you being Galbatorix's daughter."

"They're keeping their distance."

"The Varden?"

"The wolves."

"Nora," he warned.

Nora snorted, splashing her petite bare feet in the cold water and watching the droplets cling to her smooth, pale shins.

"What was the question?"

Eragon had to pause before replying just to contain his impatience.

"Why… What would the elves want with you? Any race would kill to get their hands on you, but why would they want to give you up to the elves?"

"Perhaps because Arya suggested it before changing her mind. Don't interrupt now." Eragon was about to ask why, yet again, but he fell silent. Nora sighed before continuing. "The elves have a claim on me just as much as the Varden, if not more."

"How so?"

"Because my mother was an elf. Her name was Ivanyel."

The instant the name left her mouth, Nora ceased all movement, seemingly frozen in place.

"Nora, what's wrong? Nora?"

"Eragon…" Her voice was shaky and full of terror.

* * *

><p>"<strong>Lenora. We have come."<strong>

Nora flinched at chorus of ten voices that assaulted her mind, each just as unique as a human's.

"**Who are you? Why have you contacted me?" **she asked uncertainly. She could sense that the wolves were the ones talking, but she had never heard of such creatures communicating with so much initiative and intellect.

"**Wolfsister asked us to watch you, so watch you we will."**

"**Who is the Wolfsister? Is she your…pack leader?"**

"**You cannot understand, daughter of good and evil. We are not your enemies. With us, your fate will improve."**

"**What do you know of my fate, children of the forest?"**

"**Enough. We helped you in the mountain-city. You didn't think you could perform such magic yourself, did you?"**

"**I did not."**

As the consciousness of the wolves faded into a distant awareness, Eragon's grumbling voice came back into her perception of reality.

"You know, this new tactic of avoiding answering my questions won't work. I'll find out eventually. I'm very persistent."

"Clearly," she muttered grouchily. Of course she had help. Even Arya would have found that task difficult, if not deadly as she had claimed. Why should Nora, who had neglected most non-basic magic for three years, be able to pull off something so unbelievable without killing herself? She needed the help of a pack of talking wolves. It was a good thing no one knew.

* * *

><p>"Shh. Be polite," Eedom whispered to Duchess, who trailed right on his heels in the dark, occasionally emitting a low growl when movement or sounds emanated from the village they were approaching.<p>

With cloaks tightly wrapped around themselves, the two men and dog cautiously walked to the village entrance. It was surprisingly well-fortified, with a wall of thick hardwood logs surrounding its borders with sharp stakes in ground outside providing further intimidation. It was impressive…and he didn't blame the townspeople for their caution. Rumor had it that this place, just a day and a half travel from the Hadarac, was a prime target for raids and Imperial harassment. It was just bursting with rebellion and full of potential recruits.

"Who goes there?" a man demanded through the peephole in the gate. "We told you we don't want no more to do with the Imperial army. You won't take any of us alive! Our women and children are out of your reach, corrupt pigs!"

Casually waving for Ajihad to remain silent, Eedom spoke up and stepped into the torchlight from the opening, hands held up to show that he meant no harm.

"I don't know about being a corrupt pig, good sir, but I am glad that your reputation of bravery against tyranny had been proved true. We mean you no harm. We only hope to aid you and others like you in the fight against Galbatorix."

Pause.

"Who's 'we'?"

Ajihad also came forward with a solemn nod.

"I am Eedom Stranson and this is Calath Shadowsword, a friend of the Varden. If you promise not to try eating my dog, we have a proposition for you."

Another pause occurred as the grate slid shut. For a moment, the men thought that they had just been turned away, but the gate soon swung open, revealing several armed and wary villagers. The village inside covered an area of maybe an acre and the buildings within were all rough-hewn but well-made.

Once the door was secure, a bearded, fit man with broad shoulders and a stocky stature, who was wearing stout leather clothes of somewhat better quality than his peers, came forward. Like the others, he had a sword at his belt, but he seemed to hold more respect from the villagers.

"I am Tygrid, the mayor of this village. Which of you is Shadowsword?" Ajihad took a small step forward, lowering the hood of his cloak, a movement that was copied by Eedom. "I have never heard of you, Shadowsword, and I have kept a close eye on the Varden movements through a few friends of mine."

"I do not seek to be heard of, Tygrid," Ajihad replied calmly. "I have recently come from the Varden as…an experiment, if you will. You said that your women and children are safe?"

Tygrid paused, still not sure how far he wanted to trust 'Shadowsword' and his friend.

"That was a lie. The women refused to leave and we couldn't exactly send the children off alone...well, the merchant's wife left, but she never liked us 'tempting the wrath of the Empire'. What is this experiment you speak of?"

Ajihad straightened to his full height.

"We are looking for volunteers to form a secret army. We will strike at the Empire where it is weakest and least expecting. If all goes well, perhaps we will one day stand beside the Varden armies in victory in Uru'baen itself. For now, however, I have small expectations. The safety of the people will be before all. I don't want to take unnecessary risks."

Tygrid looked as if he was chewing something and trying to decide whether it tasted good or not. Then, he smiled warmly.

"The enemy of the king is my friend. It is late and you have likely traveled far. Please, stay in the inn (Rowena would be delighted with the business) and come to my house in the morning (the one over there beside the market). We can discuss everything and, if I find your plans worthy of action here, I will present them to the people. These have been hard times and we all could use some spark of hope."

After thanking Tygrid for his invitation, the newcomers made their way to the dimly lit little inn, where a bleary-eyed plump woman just about as tall as Eedom opened the door and suddenly burst to life upon hearing their request for a room. The woman, Rowena, had the whole place bustling practically within seconds as she tore two young women from a side room, still in their nightgowns. The helpers soon had a fire roaring and two bowls of steaming soup and a loaf of bread with spiced cider seemingly magically before the shocked guests. Even Duchess was contentedly gnawing on a meaty bone at their feet.

Eedom, who had felt too helpless against the bustling innkeeper to tell her that the chaos was unnecessary, fell silent upon seeing the joyous enthusiasm as she terrorized her assistants. By the time the maids were allowed to slink back to their room, the otherwise empty common room had taken on a cheery, cozy air. Upon seeing that her guests were comfortable, Rowena heaved a sigh and gave the men directions to their rooms before sitting down at the fire for some knitting. Her frizzy blond hair was escaping from its loose bun, but she didn't seem to mind.

"You command your assistants like a general in battle," Ajihad noted, raising his voice enough for the woman to hear.

Rowena's freckled cheeks blushed deeply.

"In these days, one almost has to be a war general to survive."


	18. Secrets Unleashed

I knew only darkness and stillness... my life was without past or future... but a little word from the fingers of another fell into my hand that clutched at emptiness, and my heart leaped to the rapture of living. - Helen Keller

Secrets Unleashed

"_Be careful in Du Weldenvarden," Angela warned. "Just because elves do not display their emotions doesn't mean they aren't subject to rage and passion like the rest of us mortals. What can make them so deadly, though, is how they conceal it, sometimes for years."_

"_You've been there?" asked Eragon._

"_Once upon a time."_

"_What do you think of Nasuada's plans?"_

"_Mmm…she's doomed! You're doomed! They're all doomed!" She cackled and doubled over for a moment before suddenly straightening again. "Notice I didn't specify what kind of doom, so no matter what happens, I predicted it. How very _wise _of me. I suppose I won't see you for a while, so farewell, best of luck, avoid roasted cabbage, don't eat earwax, and look on the bright side of life!"_

Angela's words had been confusing enough when they were simply taken for their face value. However, when factors such Arya and Nora's mysterious enmity and Nora's elven heritage were taken into account, they were simply nonsense!

After leaving their rafts behind and continuing the journey to Du Weldenvarden on foot and donkey-back, Eragon noticed the princess' elvish traits becoming more prominent the closer they got to their destination. She and Arya constantly went back and forth between awkward silences and congenial conversation about the various aspects of the great elf city.

Arya, who rejected the use of a steed, constantly ran ahead of the group throughout the day, only to be found some later waiting on the next hill. It was a shock to see how fast she could run. Nora, fascinated by this, frequently left her own steed to attempt racing Arya into the distance. More often than not, the other travelers would come across the girl ten minutes later, panting and completely outstripped by the elf. There was one point, however, when the party caught up with both women standing side-by-side on a small boulder. It was obvious that Nora had taken much longer to reach the spot and was still exhausted, but no one mentioned that when she hopped back onto one of the donkeys for the next ten miles.

By the time they came within sight of the great forest, however, both females were as tense as taut bowstrings and, on that last day, Nora didn't sit on a donkey even once. As unbelievable as it was, she seemed to be trying to mimic Arya.

* * *

><p>"<strong>Lenora."<strong>

Nora groaned and rolled onto her back with a huff as Saphira's enveloping voice woke her. She had been having such a wonderful dream. There had been proof that Murtagh was really alive.

"**What is it, Saphira?"**

She could see the dragon appear at the edge of her vision, settling down at the edge of the camp.

"**Arya has just taught me and Eragon a variety of elvish greetings and customs. Since you are accompanying us to Ellesmera, would you like for me to share some highlights?"**

"**An advantage of having an elf for a mother was that I know enough to get by," **the girl grumbled.

"**What is troubling you, small one?" **persisted the dragon.

"**Have you ever heard of a normally non-magical creature having amazing magical abilities, as well as the ability to talk with its mind with just as much intellect as you or I?"**

Saphira was silent for moment before denying having heard of such creatures, whereupon Nora ended the conversation. The wolves had not tried contacting her again since they had left the rafts, but she still occasionally caught glimpses of them in the distance. The dwarves didn't really talk to her, apparently not sure whether her royal heritage or her noble actions in Farthen Dur earned more consideration. Arya also did a little mental dance of uncertainty, but she generally seemed keen on helping Nora in reaching for her elvish side. As for Eragon, he still growled for answers, but, since Arya knew everything, Nora was rather disinclined to let him in on secrets that did not concern him, yet. Knowing that she was half-elf, Murtagh's betrothed, and Galbatorix's daughter was enough.

* * *

><p>Lenora sighed in contentment as she walked ahead of the group with Arya, picking a large pink rose from a bush as she passed it, among many others. The distant wolves were howling to the bright full moon, but she didn't much care about them. The nearby Edda River provided a sort of peaceful white noise to accompany the whooshing of feet and hooves through the long grass that partially covered their trail. On the other side of the path was Du Weldenvarden itself, its great trees towering over them, dark and ominous – but they did not worry her either. There was something about those trees that made her feel…whole. Even Murtagh was barely on the edge of her mind. And, while her legs were still sore by the end of each day, she found that it didn't take nearly as long to catch up with Arya as before.<p>

Enchanted by the calm, though, she nearly bumped into Arya, who had stopped at the entrance of a small meadow.

"Sorry," the girl mumbled, coming back down to earth. "Do you…really think they will accept me…that the Queen will accept me?"

The elf's jaw clenched even tighter than it had been for the past two days.

"That is a question that will be answered for both of us, soon enough. I never before allowed myself to believe that you and I were similar, Lenora. But perhaps we will both find redemption," she whispered before raising her voice for the others to hear. "Stop here."

Walking into the middle of the meadow alone, she spoke the ancient words that would alert the sentries of their presence. Nora couldn't help but suddenly feel incredibly nervous. As the four elf guards emerged from the trees, she made a quick decision to keep her head down…at least until she faced the Queen. She felt even more awkward when the elves ran forward, embraced Arya, and danced around her in a circle, laughing musically all the while. Eragon, standing beside the remaining female, looked on in dumb shock at seeing Arya so happy. Nora gulped with apprehension for the moment she was recognized.

Just keep your head down.

In the forest, when it came to introducing themselves to Lifaen, Edurna, Celdin, and Nari, she quickly said that she was 'Eragon's traveling companion that kept him out of trouble'. Luckily, beyond a laugh at the idea of her keep a Dragon Rider out of trouble, they allowed her peace. Her companions were courteous enough to do the same.

* * *

><p>All this secrecy.<p>

Ajihad sat back carefully on the rickety chair from staring at the several variously detailed maps on the table before him. He had forgotten what it was like to start from scratch. In the short time since he and Eedom had begun their recruiting, they had accumulated nearly fifty able-bodied men, along with the women who had volunteered (or rather, insisted) to come, leaving a total of about seventy people to the twenty tents they had managed to collect. It was the perfect time to put into play their plan.

But the tents weren't the only thing they were short of. Despite the excellent hunting around their camp at the edge of the Hadarac Desert, probably a few hours' journey from the Ramr River, it wasn't easy to feed seventy traveling peasants who were not only traveling hard, but training hard as well under the direction of Eedom. That would change though once they started picking off the Empire like dog hair from velvet. Once they crossed the Ramr near Bullridge, they would be free to start.

Ajihad's musing was abruptly interrupted when Eedom, looking as if he hadn't slept a wink despite it being the middle of the night, barged into the tent. The Varden leader only smiled in amusement at the boy's antics, having become quite used to them during their journey. It was amazing how he could be the perfect soldier and second-in-command one second (it hadn't taken him long to find that Eedom had been in the Imperial army) and a fuming buffalo the next. Ajihad even laughed a little when Eedom wordlessly began turning circles and crawling around to peek under the table. Duchess, as always, soon followed him into the tent.

"Is there something I can help you with, Eedom?"

As if he had just noticed the other man's presence, the lad shot back to his feet and stood at attention in front of Ajihad.

"Sorry, sir. I...I lost my sword."

"You _what_? Eedom, if I remember correctly, that sword is not exactly unique. I'm sure you could go to the blacksmith and…"

"No," Eedom said firmly. "That sword has been my companion through all of my trials. It may be nothing more than a soldier's broadsword, but it is irreplaceable to me."

"Well, I can say with a fair amount of certainty that it is not here."

The young man's stony eyes flickered in thought. A single missing sword wasn't something that usually concerned Ajihad, but he was tired and needed a distraction that wasn't life or death.

"Then I cannot think of where else it could be. I have retraced my steps a hundred times, but I distinctly remember putting it in my tent. When I went back to sharpen it, it was gone."

"Perhaps your soldier's mind is getting a little disorganized."

"No," he emphasized again.

"Well…"

Just then, another figure clattered into the room, carrying a familiar sword, which Eedom was quick to snatch.

"Yelivan! What are you doing with my sword?"

"Ummm, I...Well," was the ignorant answer from the light tenor-voiced lad who had just entered. "I was…sharpening your sword, sire."

"Did I ask you to do that?"

"No, sire, but it needed to be done. I had some free time after I washed all your clothes…"

"You washed all of my…!"

Ajihad clenched his jaw to keep from laughing as an irritated Eedom checked the condition of his beloved weapon. The single incident suggested that Eedom was rather overreacting over the whole situation, but things like this had happened so frequently that he couldn't blame the poor man. Not even a day into their venture, he had saved Yelivan from a rather nasty run-in with a very angry boar by a creek. Ever since, Yelivan had insisted that he owed his life to Eedom – that apparently meant waiting on him hand and foot like a king. Eedom insisted that Ajihad should be the one served, if anyone, but nothing worked. The lad had sworn about fifty times now that he would never save someone's life again…that was always when Ajihad reminded him about their life-saving meeting in the desert.

Yelivan was a strange young fellow, perhaps around twenty years old. He proclaimed to have no talent with the sword or bow or any other weapon. He was rather skinny and tall with green eyes and black hair that looked like someone had stuck a bowl over his head and chopped off everything under it – its curls saved the otherwise hideous style choice. People who viewed him as 'Eedom's servant' considered his only saving virtues to be his wide-eyed innocence and efficiency with chores. One or two people who considered him their 'friend' said that he was quiet but considerate and polite. Ajihad found him amusing. Eedom was annoyed at first, but he was slowly taking on a role similar to a bossy big brother.

At last, Eedom possessively belted on his sword and looked back up at Yelivan with an unreadable expression.

"Yelivan. Thank you. _Please _take the rest of the night off and go get some sleep." As soon as Yelivan had trotted out, Eedom gave an exasperated sigh and looked back at Ajihad. "Well, _Calath_, since I'm already here, what's the plan?"

* * *

><p>The servant called Yelivan laughed under persistently short breath.<p>

Breathe low.

Grabbing a lute from under the cot, Yelivan headed back out towards the campfire.

"Time to surprise them again. I think _The Ballad of Wolfsister _should do the trick."

* * *

><p>Lifaen, the dark-haired elf sentry who was helping to escort the Dragon Rider and his troupe to Ellesmera, caught Nora by surprise as he jumped gracefully from the overhead tree and joined her on the log several feet from the fire. Until then, she had been contemplating how, only a few hours from then, she would see Ellesmera. Her fate was hanging in the balance and she had no power over her own life anymore.<p>

"Are you well?"

Finally focusing on him, Lenora raised her eyebrows and wondered what had caused such concern, however masked it was by elvish neutrality.

"Why do you ask?"

"You're pale, you barely eat, you barely sleep, and you rarely talk. For a human, that is."

"I'm half elf. Didn't Arya tell you?"

A whisper of emotion flickered across the elf's face.

"I will not ask what brought you here...Nora, is it? - but I do hope that you can find a home here. I sense that you have faced enough trials in the world."

Nora tried to smile at Lifaen's kind words, but it just wouldn't come.

"Thank you, but...my trials in the world are not over."

* * *

><p>Eragon's heart had been racing as he entered the great, tree-lined elven hall and found himself being stared down by the majestic elves within. Queen Islanzadi was the most majestic of them all with her bright red lips, midnight hair, and crimson attire. Even Saphira, who bowed to no one, showed her respect to the great lady by lowering her head.<p>

But the shock had come when Islanzadi suddenly embraced Arya, crying,

"O my daughter, I have wronged you!"

Eragon stared dumbly on his knees with shock as the Queen repeated her declaration in the ancient language. Arya was the princess? It made sense as he remembered Angela's prophecy that he would fall in love with royalty (he had actually been doubtfully worried for a while that Angela had been talking about Galbatorix's daughter)…but it was still a shock. Even Saphira was surprised.

Covering her face, the Queen continued,

"Ever since you disappeared, I've barely slept or eaten. I was haunted by your fate, and feared that I would never see you again. Banning you from my presence was the greatest mistake I have ever made….Can you forgive me?"

Over the next tension-filled minutes, the apparent mother-daughter reunion continued peaceably and introductions were made with Saphira, Eragon, and Orik, whereupon she demanded to hear Eragon's full story, including Brom's demise. Something, however, interrupted her solemn joy. Eragon had been incredibly interested to see Islanzadi's reaction to Nora, but, seeing how the girl looked as though she wanted to sink into the floor, he changed his mind.

The Queen, her eyes suddenly boring into Lenora's, stayed beside her daughter, but had no need to raise her voice. It suddenly dawned on him: Would they embrace Nora as being at least partially of their own race? Did the Queen know 'Ivanyel'?

"I know you, Dautr abr garmar," she whispered blankly. _Daughter of wolves. _Eragon didn't think there was any spite there, but her following words begged to differ. "Perhaps I should execute you right now and send your head back to Galbatorix in a basket."

Eragon was stunned when Nora showed no signs of being flustered as she responded calmly,

"Then you would only prove that you are barbarians not worthy of mercy, since you give none. It would explain why my mother had to leave."

Hearing this, Arya quickly added,

"She tried to save me when I was captured by Durza. It was ultimately my own fault that I was taken because I refused her help even though she risked everything by revealing herself. She has done much to earn our welcome and should not be punished for crimes that are not her own."

Eragon smiled, pleasantly surprised by the elf's defense.

Islanzadi slowly stepped past Arya and walked towards the daughter of the ultimate nemesis, eyes holding fire and posture as majestic as a peacock. Elves were clearly not the type to whisper in crowds, but the silent tension made up for it ten times over. They seemed to hold their breath as the Queen opened her mouth again. Eragon recognized it as the same words Angela used before telling his fortune:

"Manin, wyrda, hugin. It seems that the Ivanyel's legacy may be repaired, after all. Today is a day of forgiveness. It should not be different for the daughter of my lost sister." Nora seemed to have gone stiff as the great leader of the forest enveloped her in a motherly embrace. But then, she simply melted, burying her face in Islanzadi's shoulder. "You are safe, child. This evening, I will hear your story."

Eragon looked over at Arya for any hint of an explanation, but he didn't need it to understand. He understood now why Arya had hated Lenora for so long. She hated her because she was a true connection between herself and Galbatorix. Lenora was the doubly the daughter of royalty: Galbatorix's daughter and Islanzadi's niece. It was too grand and painful to believe. Just as he was wrapping his head around this new revelation, he vaguely heard Nora's quivering, muffled voice:

"Thank you."

When Nora backed away again, the Queen returned her focus to Eragon.

"I will hear your story _now_, Shadeslayer."


	19. Lupus Non Mordet Lupum

So sorry for the tardy update. College is insanity! Big things going on in my life! And I am quickly going crazy, so the next chapter I post may reflect that...just warning you. In a few weeks, I should be able to post a couple of decent updates...thank goodness for spring break. Thank you for all of your wonderful reviews, as always!  
>The title of this chapter means 'a wolf does not bite a wolf'.<p>

Love is not affectionate feeling, but a steady wish for the loved person's ultimate good as far as it can be obtained. - C S Lewis

Lupus Non Mordet Lupum

At the bottom of a grand wooden staircase that led to Eragon's new living quarters, the Queen told Eragon,

"This is where the leader of the Dragon Riders would dwell while in Ellesmera. I give it to you now, for you are the rightful heir to that title….It is your inheritance."

Islanzadi, along with Arya, promptly set off again towards the deeper reaches of the forest city; however, Nora paused a moment before the dumbstruck Eragon. The boy looked at her with a rather puzzled expression, as if he had never seen her before – perhaps the lightness of her heart was causing his confusion. Yet she also felt solemn because her heart was partially elsewhere.

"It is a strange and a beautiful thing," said she, "to feel that you belong somewhere. But it is a tragedy to know that you never will."

With that, she departed after the two elves, who were just disappearing into the dim.

She caught up with them just as they began ascending the stairs of one of the larger trees and followed. Ten feet up, she was already starting a mental mantra, telling herself not to look down. She hadn't been bothered by heights as much in Farthen Dur, probably because of some mental idea that underground heights were safer…she didn't understand it. One way or the other, climbing up to the elf Queen's chambers several hundred feet in the air left her with sweaty palms, shaky legs, and pale cheeks.

The quarters themselves were just as she had expected: beautiful but simple and comfortable. All of the furniture was elegant polished dark wood with soft, dark red cushions. On the first level was a giant sitting room with three padded couches and a fireplace on one side and a giant table cluttered with scrolls and books on the other. The spiral staircase on the far side likely led to a bedroom and study. Several teardrop windows lined the dwelling, all but one of which were already covered by thin membrane-like red screens.

The three women were soon comfortably seated on the cozy benches with cups of spicy hot cider. The Queen, so formal before, now smiled easily and summoned a small fire from the natural stove, giving the room a warm and calm feeling. Arya also seemed more relaxed, removing her boots and curling her legs under her as she leaned into the couch. Having kept her shoulder bag close throughout the entire evening, Nora set it beside her seat, along with her weapons. She had a feeling that this would take quite a while.

"Well, Lenora, I have heard stories from Arya, Eragon, and even Orik. Now, I want to hear it from you. No lies and don't leave anything out. I want everything brought out in the open now. No more secrets in this family."

Shivering at the thought of bringing her safeguarded secrets out in the open to this woman she had only just met, Nora took a sip of her cider to warm herself. It was going to be a very long night.

"How long ago did my mother leave Ellesmera?"

Islanzadi sighed thoughtfully.

"That is a story in itself. One hundred and eight years ago, my sister, restless for adventure, took it upon herself to scout in the Spine, despite my protests. She had been enraged by the murders of the two Riders at the hand of Galbatorix before his disappearance. I suppose she thought that seven years was long enough to wait for others to catch the traitor. She went off with the idea that a twenty-six-year-old Rider was no match for an elf of four hundred…but Ivanyel was always more…volatile. Injustice and worthless killing drove her to chase her idea of what was right. More than that, one of the Riders killed by Galbatorix was a dear friend of hers.

"By the time she returned, Ivanyel had changed. She denied finding Galbatorix, but she was distracted…and she refused to give me any answers concerning her search, even though she had nearly been gone a year. I tried to find out what had happened, but I drove her away instead. Several years went by and no sign of her. Then, one day, I received a message from Brom through my Varden contacts: Ivanyel was _his _wife. I have never felt more betrayed."

"She had her reasons for doing what she did. If Brom was really paying attention, he should have noted that she was a prisoner. It was the cruelest trick possible - he tricked her into _loving _him."

"But she kept things from you, didn't she? Otherwise…"

Nora stared for a moment, suddenly feeling a shock of pity for the Queen. To lose your sister and to feel responsible for it, only to find that your worst nightmare had come true…it was heartbreaking. Still looking at Islanzadi, the girl chose her words carefully.

"My story will be short in the eyes of elves, but it has been enough to fill my dreams with horrors. You are right to say that my mother never had the chance to tell me her full story, but I sometimes feel that she comes to me in my sleep to show me her life. I was born into the riches of being the king's daughter, yes, but I also suffered the seclusion and abuse of being the daughter of a madman who didn't want anyone to know that he even had a wife, let alone a daughter. He was afraid that, if anyone knew that I existed, his enemies would try to use me against him. I didn't need that excuse to hate him, though.

"When I was little, the only people I really saw were my mother, my nanny and teacher Tricia, Durza, Galbatorix, and, on occasion, Murtagh and his mother. Murtagh was my first and only real friend after he came to the palace. Then…my mother died and Tricia died, so…by the time I was a teenager, my keepers were Galbatorix, Durza, Tornac the trainer, and, later on, my servant Ira. Murtagh was my friend and confidante.

"When I was fifteen and Murtagh and I had just begun to have real feelings for each other, Galbatorix announced that we were to be married after I turned eighteen. That was when I ran. Since they wouldn't expect me to go to the desert, I went straight into the Hadarac with none but my horse Tricia as my company. I survived out there for several weeks, thanks to magic, until Ajihad's scouting/raiding party caught me. He almost instantly knew who I was (how, I'll never know), but he took pity on me and let me go.

"That was when I thought that the elves would perhaps welcome me, despite my being Galbatorix's daughter. It took me another several weeks to nearly reach Osilon before Arya caught me sneaking around. The moment I told her who I was, we were enemies…I suppose that is because I was the embodiment of what you saw as the betrayal of Ivanyel. Once one of her companions finally convinced her to release me, I realized that I truly was on my own. That was when I found refuge in Carvahall. I bought a farm, thinking that Murtagh and I could one day settle down there.

"The plan was for Murtagh to escape after me and send out a bird that I had enchanted to give me proof that he was out. We were to then meet at Dras Leona. A year after I had escaped, there was still no word or sign of any kind. Eventually, I resigned myself to living as a farm woman, selling chicken eggs and a few odd potions that I could still remember and growing the bulk of my food. For fear of being discovered by the Empire and not knowing what had become of Murtagh, I allowed my magical knowledge to fade. Sometimes, I even tried to forget it…especially the spells my father taught me.

"But then, one day, I suddenly had this…feeling that Arya was in danger...or _would_ be in danger. No matter what, I couldn't shake it. So, I scryed her and, surprisingly, found her – just beginning her most recent egg-ferrying journey. Fed up with waiting around for fate to find me, I decided to try rescuing Arya from whatever danger was coming. When that didn't pan out, I went to Dras Leona to see if Murtagh was there, after all. Instead, I heard rumors of a Dragon Rider, saw Eragon, and followed him into that rat trap of a cathedral. Since then, I have traveled with him; he told you the rest. That is my story."

"Good."

Nora stared in amazement. She had just talked herself hoarse and all the elf Queen had to say was 'good'?

"Majesty?"

"You have told me all with honesty and frankness. I can ask no more of you now," the woman stated calmly, sympathy showing in her eyes. "With your heritage and potential, however, after hearing of how your abilities have been neglected…if you do not object, I would like to start training you here…starting tomorrow, if possible."

The girl coughed into her drink in the middle of taking a sip upon seeing how serious the Queen was.

"To…tomorrow?"

"The sooner we have a fully able warrior to help us in the war against Galbatorix, the better. When people find out that the king's daughter has allied herself with his enemies, they will hope…perhaps just as much as with the new free Dragon Rider."

"So…I am going from being a traitor to one of your greatest hopes. Didn't we change our minds quickly?"

With a barely noticeable smirk, Arya leaned forward to add her own piece:

"_We _will teach you to be less soft, Lenora. If you thought that your elven traits were surfacing in our running here, you won't recognize yourself, soon enough."

"Is change like that really a good thing, though?"

"Yes. I believe my mother has the intention of putting you under the guidance of Catira Ryshal, one of our most talented healers. I believe you will get along quite well."

"Now, child," Islanzadi cut in, "I suppose, being half human, you are rather exhausted by now."

"I'll show her to her quarters. We have some things that must be discussed."

Nora flinched at the thought. Arya was probably about to give her a two-hour lecture on how exactly they wanted to deal with the public knowledge of the enemy human and elven families being connected. Thinking of how lucky she was made her think painfully of Murtagh and her hand went to the star pendant around her neck. Was he dead? Alive? Safe? Or was he being tormented by Galbatorix even at that very moment - losing his mind, his only sanctuary? His nineteenth birthday had come and gone. Arya noticed this distraction.

Upon finally reaching the bottom of the giant staircase, the elf princess made a statement completely unexpected.

"Ask yourself if a dead lover is worth wasting your emotional energy."

Studying her reunited relative, Nora suddenly smiled in understanding. She remembered her own momentary suppressed anguish from when Arya had lost her companions just before being captured by Durza.

"I feel that you have been asking yourself that same question. But my lover is not necessarily dead, so, despite my mourning, I have a vague hope that he will return to me. If we lose hope, Arya, then Galbatorix has already won the war."

* * *

><p>Murtagh shivered and slid closer to the ruby red dragon curled up beside him, also trembling. Thorn was now about the size of a rather large dog, thanks to whatever Galbatorix was doing to him. The king hadn't bothered separating the dragon and Rider this time, since he had their allegiance. Murtagh fought against it well enough at first, using his unshakable memories of Nora to retain sanity. But then, Thorn had hatched for him and, on this very night, he had become tired of seeing his companion suffer. The poor creature had been born into suffering just as he had, but now neither of them had any taste of freedom or a glint of hope.<p>

Nora, likely enough, thought that he was dead. Knowing her, she would have either killed herself in despair or gone into denial, despite whatever proof of death the Twins had left behind.

Another shiver came at the thought of the Twins. They had been merciless when he had arrived at the Varden. Here, they were beyond anything that even the deepest hate and malice could conjure. Between them and Galbatorix, there had been weeks when he didn't even know what was reality or remembered what it was like to be free of oppression and pain. They had tried using hallucinations of Nora against him – everything from her being tortured right before his eyes to her trying to convince him to give in on her own initiative – but he kept telling himself that she was safe, no matter what. Now, he could only hope that she knew he was alive. Uru'baen had been a living hell before, but, without her, it was unbearable.

"**Do you think he will come again?" **Thorn asked as he stretched his neck to rest his spiny head on Murtagh's feet, still fighting the occasional tremors that rippled through his warm body.

Murtagh clenched his jaw in despair.

"**He knows our true names…and we are on his side, now. A wolf doesn't bite a wolf."**

* * *

><p>Rubbing her eyes in satisfaction at feeling so rested, Lenora stared up at the ceiling, fascinated by the natural swirling patterns. Then, she remembered that she was sleeping in a tree house forty feet above the ground and her stomach lurched. It thankfully was not nearly as high as the Queen's den, but she had certainly been uncomfortable climbing those stairs last night...and relieved once all of the windows were tightly shut. Now, however, the lack of airflow made the room rather stuffy and the girl begrudgingly walked over to the closest screen and allowed the fresh breeze.<p>

With no intention of denying herself a little more enjoyment, Nora turned on the hot water of the floor-tub and left her traveled-in and slept-in clothes dangling over the finely detailed changing screen. Tossing aside the soft green towel, she sank into the steaming warmth and scrubbed the grime away as she let her mind wander…maybe a little too far. She thought how comfortable and uncommonly safe she felt; and she thought of Murtagh, who she knew was either dead or in some corner, shivering and tortured. Guilty, Nora sank all the way into the tub and scrubbed furiously at her untangling curls.

Eventually, she shuffled her way into the next room with the towel tightly secured around herself and her thick hair still dripping. On the small table in the middle of cozy space, the girl found two little surprises: a beautiful gray frock and a wooden tray piled with a delightful variety of bread, cheese, and fruit…but no meat. The last thought came with a frown. Among elves, there would be no steaks or bacon or sausage or even jerky. Her growling stomach seemed to echo the feeling of chagrin.

Despite initial prejudice, Nora donned the dress, gray leggings, and shoes and ate the food. Having brushed her hair into a manageable wavy ponytail, she moved into the bedroom to prepare some tea from the fireplace; however, lacking a kettle, she ended up sitting back with a brew made by magic. And she couldn't help but marvel at the gorgeous simplicity of the dress she now wore. It was the length of tunic with a wide V-neck and long, draping sleeves. A tie around the waist cinched up the voluminous soft fabric. Her star necklace was nestled perfectly on the center of her chest.

With her hair finally in a thick braid over her shoulder and down to her waist, Nora couldn't help but stare for a moment at the foggy silver mirror on the mantle. With her dark hair, broad shoulders, and trouble-thinned face, it was like a clouded reflection of her mother…except her mother was far more noble and majestic, like a great black panther or…a wolf.

"That frock suits you." Lenora spun around to find a strange elf woman sitting at the table she had left only moments before, perfectly at ease, as though she hadn't crept into a guest's quarters uninvited. Her finely shaped lips were curled into a self-satisfied smile and her long fingers occupied themselves while she leaned on the chair arm by brushing her lengthy dark brown bangs out of her dancing cat-like blue-gray eyes. Her feet were propped on the table. "It is nice to see you again, Lenora. I wasn't sure whether to believe Arya when she showed up at my tree stump. Of course, it took her a while just to convince me that she wasn't a ghost."

Nora stared. 'Nice to see you again'? This elf didn't seem at all familiar. This earned a closer look. Standing, she would have been about 5'9", around Nora's height. She had a slim but fit figure with broad shoulders; the slightly wavy mid-back-length brown hair, not in the least an elvish trait, was held back by a black leather band, with the exception of the unruly bangs; her face was angular and cheerful with long eyelashes; and her skin had a pleasant moderate tan. This strange lady wore a modest V-neck long sleeved warm brown shirt with the sleeves pushed up past her elbows, a long and flowing dark green skirt, black leather boots, and a silver pendant with black and gold beads around her neck. The pendant was elegant, shaped like vines intertwined together, with little gold leaves  
>molded into the silver.<p>

"And who may you be?"

The stranger ignored Nora's question and studied the mostly empty tray for a good scrap to nibble on.

"You missed Oromis' entrance, by the way." She mischievously glanced back at Nora. "Oops, I wasn't supposed to tell you about that."

The idea of the forbidden peaked the princess' interest.

"Who is Oromis?"

"Oh, he's just the only other Dragon Rider other than Galbatorix that's still alive from the Great Purge… Ooh! Did I say that out loud?" Again, the feigned distress.

"A Dragon Rider! Why tell me this? Who are you, elf? If you value your life, you will tell me."

"Tsk, tsk, my friend, you are not a cold-hearted killer. While you may have been before, you were not so long ago, nor in the recent past, nor in the near future."

"That makes no sense," the girl growled, becoming impatient with this nameless intruder, who finally waved her aside in her own mood.

"I am Catira Ryshal, a healer here in Ellesmera and seasoned traveler, spy, and magician in my own right. Your name means 'light' and 'compassion', Nora, and, despite the darkness that surrounds you, you have always stood by that."

"You talk as if you know me."

"We were friends and will be friends. I have seen you trained and, as you have shown interest in healing, I will be your trainer."

"Stop speaking in riddles, woman! You're giving me a headache."

Catira suddenly grinned a toothy grin.

"Sorry, m'lady. Maybe this'll help." For an instant, Catira's form changed completely, aside from the brown hair. Instead of the regal elf healer, there was a familiar young maid with big brown eyes, a pouty mouth, work-roughened hands, and a modestly plump figure. Then, she was back to being an elf.

"Ira! My maid!"

"My real name is Catira, but I'm not picky," the former maid stated, getting up to give the stunned half-blood a welcoming hug. "It really is good to see you safe. I suppose you'd like an explanation as to why your humble maid of a few years disappeared and suddenly dropped back into your life in the elven capitol?"

"It might be nice."

"Soon enough. We need to start your training…we'll be working on magic, fighting, and healing; sadly, with the latter, we don't have many ready subjects since elves are so resilient and stubborn…not that I'm complaining. And, despite Islanzadi's paranoia, Oromis wants to meet you. Ooh, this is going to be fun."

Nora blinked a few times, comprehending how bubbly and…human Catira was compared to the other elves.

"As you wish…Master."

"And Nora…never call me 'master'. We're on first-name terms here."


	20. Victim or Coward

My apologies for the (again) tardy update! I think this story is starting to really go somewhere, so I think it's worth it. :) I should be able to get another chapter up soon, but I wouldn't bet anything on it. Happy Easter!

"_To be, or not to be: that is the question:  
>Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer<br>The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,  
>Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,<br>And by opposing end them?" – Shakespeare_

Victim or Coward

"Someone _what_?"

The black-haired trainee stared helplessly at an unwavering Catira. After spending most of the day chatting, they had arrived at the infirmary for a first…task.

"Someone – who will remain nameless – sealed her mouth closed as a childish prank. She was always a bit chatty, but she's too young to have learned to use magic without words, so it's our job to undo it."

"But that means we have to completely recreate her mouth. I don't know what she looked like before; how can repair something when I don't know how it's been done?"

"Figure it out, Lenora."

* * *

><p>"<em>Conscience doth make cowards of us all."<em>

* * *

><p>Only an hour into the second day of training, Nora was already curled up on the ground to let the nausea of impact fade before scowling at Catira.<p>

"You didn't say anything about using _magic_ for this duel!"

"I didn't say anything about _not _using magic either. You always have to be prepared. You _should _have learned that training with Durza and Galbatorix."

"Must've blocked it out. Remind me why we did this _after _I was already exhausted from figuring out for myself how to 'sing' a plant."

"I'm not going to waste my breath telling you something you already know yourself."

"Right: battle tactics," Nora groaned, swinging her blunt sword into a defensive position. Catira, however, was no longer amused.

"Why are you doing this to yourself, Nora? I know you; at least, I did know you. I know that you are capable of defeating ten of me as easy as you may, with work. Why are you holding back?" Going silent for a moment, Lenora attacked with her sword before wordlessly using magic to send Catira sprawling ten feet away. Then she went back to nursing her bruised spine. "That's…" _Cough_. "…much better."

"I thought I knew you too, Ira, before you disappeared on me. You're just one of the many people who has gone _poof_ from my life before just showing up again during the past few months. Now all I need is for my dead mother to come waltzing in! I am having a bit of a life crisis right now between Murtagh missing and the two sides of my family being as far apart as you can get, so don't mind me if I'm just a little preoccupied."

Catira carefully stood and signaled that the training session was over by removing the block on her sword.

"I suppose we'll just have proceed ahead of schedule, then. The only way anyone will understand you is by looking into what Durza and Galbatorix did to you…and only one person here can do that. Now, let me use this training to my own advantage and teach you how to relieve muscle pain almost instantly with an herb you can find almost anywhere."

* * *

><p>"Good morning! Or am I being hasty?"<p>

"Definitely hasty," Nora mumbled, flipping onto her stomach and stuffing her face into the down warmth of her pillow. For almost a week now, Catira had been waking her up before dawn to start a day of training, studying, and touring Ellesmera. It was nonstop until far after dusk when the elf disappeared on an unnamed house call like clockwork. She was getting used to the routine, having already been accustomed to getting up somewhat early for chores, traveling in the wild, and going through her training as a child…but, today, the call of sleep was stronger than ever.

"Lenora, don't make me dump cold water on your head again."

She finally sat up, but her response was muffled by the blue tunic, black leggings, and belt being thrown on her face.

"Fine!"

"You know, any other elf would have lost their patience with your lack of cooperation about this whole thing, by now. You're barely putting any real effort into fighting, you don't take the time to study the healing remedies I give you, and you just…aren't progressing as scheduled."

"Scheduled?" That word held an unfavorable ring. "You people have a schedule for me now? To do what exactly?"

"To make you one of us. To make you better than us."

"Catira, I don't know if you've noticed, but I'm only half elf…and it isn't exactly prominent. I don't even have the bloody pointed ears."

"That's not true!" Fire seemed to alight in Ira's eyes. "I saw what you could do even when I was in Uru'baen. Arya told me how you stopped Durza's magic when she was captured and how you had something to do with Ajihad's disappearance, magically. Only as one of us can you reach your full potential, which will be a great asset in stopping Galbatorix. You hate him just as much as I do, if not more. This is how you can stop him. Now, get dressed. We have a long walk."

* * *

><p>"<em>So full of artless jealousy is guilt,<br>It spills itself in fearing to be spilt."_

* * *

><p>Fighting the overwhelming tremors wracking his body from the searing pain in his back, Eragon turned his bloodshot eyes back to Oromis. The Cripple-Who-Is-Whole, who was sitting on a nearby log whittling away at a chunk of hardwood, returned the gaze with sorrow and understanding.<p>

These horrendous attacks that occurred every time he thought he was getting somewhere with his training were getting rather old. And it scared him too. He couldn't fight like this! The instant he started fighting an Imperial soldier or tried to take down a wall with magic, he would be absolutely useless to his allies. No healer even in Ellesmera had any idea how to fix this affliction. The healer who cared for Oromis, Catira, shook her head sadly in defeat after studying him for nearly an hour, a glow of hatred in her elven eyes as she left.

Eragon cringed as he rose and went to sit beside Oromis, dabbing away the sweat on his brow with his sleeve. He felt like an old man, not a teenage boy in his prime. It was frustrating beyond belief!

"Master…have you heard of Lenora's progress? I haven't seen her since we first arrived, but I know that one of the elves was training her."

Oromis gently blew the loose shavings off of the carving that seemed to be taking the shape of a woman.

"She and Catira are coming here today for a visit. The poor girl has many ghosts to banish and Catira has just as many. I think, by the time they make any progress, they're either going to be as sisters or they will kill each other."

"Oh."

The young man grimaced at the thought of having Nora around for training. What if Oromis had them do an exercise together and he had one of his attacks?

"Oromis, how are we feeling today?" Catira's cheerful voice echoed through the clearing as she and Nora appeared, walking towards the men.

"Better than yesterday. Thank you, child."

"You sure? Last night, I almost spent two hours just trying to settle the pain."

"There are more important things than my comfort at stake. Lenora and I need to dig a little deeper into her past."

A wild look appeared on Nora's face and she quickly said,

"Eragon, why don't you go have lunch with Arya somewhere. You look hungry."

"As a Rider, your friend, and probably your greatest ally in this coming fight, he deserves to hear this, Lenora."

"This fight – exactly! When did I ever volunteer to join this fight? All I ever wanted was a quiet life out in the country."

"With Murtagh?"

"That was the original plan, but it seems I'll be improvising. And how did you know about that?"

"Despite my solitude, I see much of the world outside. I saw your affection for that boy. Considering, you're taking this situation rather well."

Resigning herself to the fact that she was in the presence of someone a hundred times wiser, stronger, and more knowledgeable than her, Nora gave up the defensive stance with one last glare at Eragon for his nerve to be forced to stay.

"Oromis…does it make me a bad person that I'm not mourning for my lost fiancé like any normal girl?"

"What would you mourn for – his death or his disappearance?"

It was disturbing how well this elf could read her.

"I know my father better than almost anyone. He has the twisted mind of a drunk jackal in whose mind, on the spur of the moment, killing Murtagh could have been just as logical as capturing him if he was in the right mood at the time. If he did capture him…"

Eragon took the opportunity to interrupt when Nora paused in thought.

"He is dead. You should know that."

"Do we?" Arya interjected, suddenly appearing in their midst. "We found his bloody clothes, but is that proof enough for his childhood friend and lover? Not necessarily."

"Arya?"

The elf princess blinked once, unfazed by the boy's curiosity.

"Catira, you and your charge should go to the infirmary. There was an accident with a few trainees learning to sing the trees, and they can't remember what spell they used."

Catira and Nora bowed and turned to leave, but Oromis addressed the latter, handing her his carving. Eragon hadn't realized how it had transformed into a beautiful black-haired elf woman until then.

Recognition of the statuette flickered in Nora's eyes before she stowed it into her sleeve.

* * *

><p>"<em>I am very proud, revengeful,<br>ambitious, with more offenses at my beck than I have  
>thoughts to put them in, imagination to give them shape,<br>or time to act them in."_

* * *

><p>Catira chuckled as she and her apprentice began the long downhill journey back to Ellesmera.<p>

"Nora, you were gaping the entire time."

"I was not."

"Regardless," the elf continued with a wave of her hand, "that visit with Oromis made me realize that you and I need to start with more intense training. No more laziness and distractions. From now on, you are my top priority. By the time Eragon is two months into his training, no one will be able to tell you apart from an elf with your hair down."

Nora narrowed her eyes.

"Again with the turning me into an elf thing."

"It's for your own good," Arya stated, coming along beside the other two women. "It good to see you again, Catira Svit-kona." Catira nodded in acceptance of the title.

The other princess didn't believe the 'for your own good' excuse, halting in her tracks and firmly grabbing Arya's arm. She certainly needed to work a bit more on controlling her emotions rather than just covering them with a blank face.

"Do you want me to be more like an elf because you're afraid of what I'll do, otherwise? Is it because you fear me, even after all I've done to help?"

"Do you know why you are feared? You have _his _eyes – the eyes of a killer."

"Your eyes aren't so friendly, either."

She didn't bother trying to deny it.

"But my eyes hold the justice and power of light; yours hold the shadow and danger of the darkness. We both frighten people, but, in your case, they feel the need to react to the darkness."

Nora didn't seem at all flustered by this accusation – it was true, after all.

"You were raised in light and I was raised in darkness; it's as simple as that. The things you love most are in the light, mine are in the dark. But the men we loved have both been taken by the darkness – yours by the arrows under Durza's direction and mine through his capture by the Twins." She laughed. "Even your new suitor is the all-good type."

Arya sniffed haughtily at the thought of Eragon – for she knew the 'suitor' spoken of was Eragon – being her lover. Catira was simply impressed that Nora had shifted the conversation so smoothly.

"You need to find yourself an elven lover, Lenora – someone in the 'light'. Give up on these human boys; they're all the same: fickle and untrustworthy."

That was probably the wrong thing to say to Nora. Her face went blank.

"Catira, I am going to take a walk in the fresh air. I'll meet you at the infirmary later."

* * *

><p><em>Nora leaned her head back against the invisible wall behind her. Her eyes hadn't adjusted to the darkness yet, but she knew that it was one of those dreams that reflected reality. She just needed to wait and see what this one reflected. Wherever it was, it was cold – her bare feet were almost numb. She was hungry – starved, really – and thirsty; and she hurt all over; and she was exhausted…<em>

_A few seconds later, the young woman stood, glanced around at what appeared to be a bedroom, and smoothed the skirt of her off-white dress. The 'wall' she had been leaning against was actually the door. The reason it was cold was…no. Despite the fact that the window was wide open and the fireplace was completely lifeless, when she went to close the window, she stopped short upon feeling the warm breeze. It was either late spring or early summer. She wanted to turn around to look around more, but her body wouldn't obey her; she just stood staring out the window…at Uru'baen. She went to massage her wrists for some reason – they were chafed._

_Biting her lip, she crawled onto the windowsill and sat there with one leg dangling outside, her ankles stinging in the open air. Suddenly, she realized that she was holding a bloody dagger in her lap._

_With a bang, the door opened and heavy footsteps resounded behind her._

"_What are you doing here? Did he let you go?"_

_Nora felt her body stiffen as tears leaked out from her eyes and skittered down her cheeks. She recognized and loved that voice, despite how tortured it sounded, but she was overcome with horror at the same time. She even shivered when his footsteps stopped right next to her._

"_Why is it so cold? What has he done to you?"_

"_It's cold because I wanted it that way."_

"_Well, stop it. Are you trying to kill yourself?"_

"_I value my life too much for that."_

"_Then why?" Then it dawned on her. "You don't think you deserve to feel alive. I never met anyone who took the saying 'cold as the grave' quite so seriously."_

"_Because I don't deserve it."_

_With a single thought, Nora countered the freezing spell and allowed the warm air from outside to fill the room with its breeze._

"_This wasn't supposed to happen. I'm not going to ask you to run away with me because I know you can't. I wish I knew how I was brought here and how you were able to see me hurt like that without even blinking. This way, I'll save you from what he has planned next. I only hope that we haven't lost what we had, despite everything that's happening. But I can't say that I love you, either, because I don't know if that's true any more…not after everything that's happened."_

_He remained silent, confirming her fear of the mutual feeling, but she still felt his hand caress the back of her head. Just because they were engaged, thanks to her father, didn't mean they were in love. But she still cared for him more than anything. He was broken; but she wouldn't let herself be broken._

_In the dream, the Nora that slept in Ellesmera – the one who had no idea what was going on – asked a simple question as the scene tore at her heart with horrific truth. She didn't expect it to come through her own voice _in_ the dream, but it did._

"_Why is this real?"_

_A second later, still without looking at the man, she had jumped and was flying through the air towards the dark rooftops below._

Lenora sat up with a gasp.

How could that dream be a real foretelling? She would rather die than jump out of a castle window with a hundred-foot drop. She was even queasy at the thought of sleeping in an enclosed tree house! But it was true. It had to be true. One of these days, she would be captured by the Empire and not know how.

And maybe, just maybe, Murtagh was still alive.

* * *

><p>Eragon glanced up from the scroll he was studying outside Oromis' hut when a shadow blocked the warm evening light. Instead of stopping to chat, however, Nora passed him up and went straight inside, where the old elf was busy making tea. Eragon looked back at the tiny lettering, but focused more on listening to the conversation within.<p>

"Oromis-Elda, I wanted to apologize for my abrupt departure yesterday. The boys, men…young elves no longer have any extra arms or legs, thanks to me and Catira."

"That is good to hear…and calling me 'Master' will suffice."

There was a slight hitch in Nora's voice when she continued.

"That carving you gave me yesterday…was it…?"

"Your mother? Yes. No more questions, for now. I want to see how you are progressing."

Eragon kept his eyes fixed on the parchment (mostly) as the duo emerged from the hut and walked into the nearby clearing. Oromis put the girl through the same tests of flexibility and control as he had done with the young Rider. She completely outdid Eragon's first attempt when she proved herself to have perfect balance and elf-like control and flexibility, though she actually seemed disappointed in herself by the end.

"I never could do the splits," she grumbled.

"You did very well, as you should have, being half elf. I assume that Catira is teaching you the Ramgar?"

"Yes."

"And I assume that you are well-versed in history and literature?"

"My mother gave me a short version of history and I received a lengthy education of Galbatorix's own twisted version of things. As a child, when I wasn't training, I was reading. The adventure and love stories were my favorite…always on the back shelves of the library collecting dust."

"Let me see your hands." She complied. "Ah, they have the grace of royalty. You are used to the sword and the bow, as well as the pen, occasionally. But you have seen the labor of a farmer in recent years. Am I correct?"

"I spent about two years hiding in Carvahall…waiting. I find myself doing that frequently."

A moment of silence between the two was followed by another sad smile on Oromis' part, as they had apparently spoken with their minds.

"I spoke of this to Eragon on his first day of training, young one: Those whom we love are often the most alien to us. If this dream you speak of has true meaning, then you would be wise not to ignore it. Return here tomorrow evening when the sun touches the horizon. There is much to discuss, but Catira is training you well."

In silence, she departed. What had happened to the old Nora?

* * *

><p>The raiding quest was going beautifully. They passed Bullridge and were heading in the direction of Leona Lake with the intention of eventually heading south toward Surda. So far, they had decimated a dozen Imperial parties with minimal damage on their own part. All in all, the experimental army of 'Shadowsword' was doing even better than anyone could have hoped.<p>

Unfortunately, they were beginning to get noticed by the Empire. The supply parties they attacked in recent days had had more armed guards than previously. On top of that, they had heard rumors of a potential new weapon of Galbatorix that could emerge at any point; oddly enough, the soldier who coughed up that information had a seizure and died only seconds after the words left his lips.

Eedom knocked on the center post and entered Ajihad's tent with Yelivan seemingly eternally on his heels. The former Varden leader was seated at his crude desk as usual and Rowena, the hardy innkeeper from the beginning of this venture, was standing beside him, pointing to various points on the map. She had almost instantly been put in charge of the general inventory – everything from shoes to swords to food – because of her stalwart nature and practicality. So far, there were no complaints.

"…and I heard from my brother, a trader," she was saying, "that there's a nice clean creek right about here, two miles from the main path, where we can rest for a little while and do some hunting. We'll need it for the trek to Leona Lake if we don't want to risk getting ambushed ourselves between here and here. As much as I hate dark forests, I think getting to the Spine and following that south would be a good idea. Our numbers are growing by the day and those trees would make an ideal hideout at night. Of course, we would have to set up extra night guards to keep the wild animals away…" Out of suggestions for the moment, Rowena finally noticed Eedom's presence. "Eedom dear!" she exclaimed. "It's nice to see you looking a little relaxed for once. Well, I should go make sure the cook isn't burning the stew."

When the woman bustled out, leaving the three men alone, Eedom allowed himself a wry smile, to Ajihad's bewilderment.

"Sir, I'll never understand why that woman has the need to critique everything you do here – or why you let her – or women in general!"

"She has good suggestions," was the plain answer.

Yelivan suddenly piped up with his own opinion:

"Women have the need to critique men because they frequently need critiquing. Sometimes, I think that, in some ancient language or fact or history, the 'wo' before the word 'man' for them means 'the source of brains, logic, insight, patience, and life reasoning for –' Why are there women if not to keep the men in check? Even Galbatorix would be crazier than he is now, if not for a woman's help."

"They also _make_ men crazy," Eedom grumbled, but Ajihad looked at the servant with deep thought.

"Yelivan," he said, "you show great wisdom and insight for one so young."

Yelivan shifted uncomfortably for a moment.

"I…was just thinking out loud, sire."

"Hm. Do it more often."

"If you'll excuse me, sire, I have chores to do."

When the boy was gone, Ajihad was still smiling.

"That lad has a rare mind. He should be studying to be a scholar, not a servant."

"He's certainly different. When we were at the river a few days ago and all the men went charging in for a bath, he went slinking off somewhere and, next I saw him, he was scrubbing pots for the chef and looking as clean as a new blade. But tell me, what have you decided on our strategy and what can I do to help?"

"I think Rowena cleared things up quite a bit, just now."

"Brilliant! My job is being taken over by an innkeeper," the soldier sarcastically growled. Even he could see how taken those two were with each other.


	21. Diminished

Hey look, an update! Haha. Sorry for not responding specifically to your reviews from the last chapter. They really are wonderful inspiration! I know this doesn't have anything with Eedom in it, but trust me when I say that both his and Catira's parts are going to get quite interesting soon. ;)

Diminished

Eragon couldn't help but feel relieved and content as he parted ways with Lenora at her house and made his way to…pretty much nowhere. Yesterday, he had had to chase after to Saphira and help her recover from Glaedr's violent rejection. More than one awkward moment had passed between him and Arya, most recently that episode of him creating that fairth of her…and he was sure his heart wouldn't let it be the last.

But, despite his sorrow for Saphira and from his own rejection, he was content. His lessons with Oromis and Vanir were progressing nicely, if not as wished for, thanks to Nora. And she had become his dearest friend since Murtagh's disappearance and Arya's aloofness. She understood his trials, his flaws, and his dreams; she listened to his rants and sorrows; and, no matter how his infirmity frustrated him, her patience as a healer seemed to grant her a new perspective of compassion and understanding. She no longer seemed annoyed with him every other minute.

When they were actually training together – about every other day in the evenings – he could clearly tell after a while that she was going easy on him and letting him win just enough to not be too suspicious. At first, it had made him angry and he had pushed himself more than once to the brink of one of his crippling attacks, but then he had accepted it as a fact: she was better than him and always had been. After all, she had grown up being trained by the king's best. Even if she had gotten a little rusty since her escape, the elves had clearly taken care of that and more. Now, not only was she a competent warrior, but she was an aspiring scholar, an excellent healer, and a stunning magician. It was humiliating, but the truth.

Still, she was a dear friend and a great listener, as of late. They had spent many evenings during the past two months staying up past exhaustion, just chatting and helping each other (mostly her helping him) with spells and tactical advice. She was certainly more solemn, serious, and sad since Farthen Dur; though she kept up a light-hearted, humorous front, there was a slight loss of sparkle and resigned anger in her eyes. If and when she stood with him against Galbatorix, he wasn't sure if he would need to do anything – he could see her being the ultimate embodiment of a woman's wrath, seeking revenge for Murtagh's death, the suffering of the people, the destruction of the Riders, and her own horrors from her youth. He still hadn't forgotten about that brand on her shoulder.

As he smiled at the thought of finding a sister in the most unlikely person, the daughter of his enemy, Eragon's worries over the king and Arya seemed to fade just a little. He hoped he would never have to got without his friend. Despite going easy on him, she had helped him with both her support and her example of strength. And she seemed perfectly content to help him. Maybe, the more of a healer she became, he eventually could overcome his infirmity and be strong enough to face Galbatorix. Without her, he would fail. With her, he felt hopeful.

The lad smiled again at a group of wolves in the shadows. He no longer questioned the presence of wild animals here. They were welcome and friendly, if sometimes skittish.

He didn't notice how they seemed to be waiting for something.

* * *

><p>Two months had passed since her arrival in Ellesmera and, true to Catira's word, she seemed to have surpassed Eragon in ability…but she never let him see quite how far ahead she really was. Thanks to Cat's excessive training, she had found several ways to at least limit and calm the poor boy's attacks. And…she had discovered that he really wasn't all that bad. His pain, knowledge, and responsibility had aged his mind beyond that of the former idiotic farm boy, though his daftness still occasionally shocked her.<p>

According to Cat and the other elf healers, she had a rare talent for healing and would one day equal, if not surpass, their abilities. Unfortunately, that 'one day' would probably not be soon enough. In fighting and magic, she had reached a comparable, if not equal, level, as well. In the frequent duels she underwent, she was now able to at least hold her own again Arya and actually beat the young elf Vanir (who was training Eragon). Catira, however, was still able to beat her in mere minutes…not surprising since the woman was even older than Arya. For two months, all she had done was eat, sleep, and breathe this training.

She was beyond anything she had reached during her time under Durza and Galbatorix. She could perform magic without uttering a single word or making any mistakes; once or twice, she had been able to look into a person's soul (called the 'healer's window') to see what was wrong both physically and mentally (though Catira considered this a last minute resort since you could accidentally stumble upon the individual's True Name); and, best of all, she had been able to sing herself a new tree home that was only ten feet off the ground. All in two months.

Exhausted from an entire day of physical training, Nora collapsed on the foot of her down mattress, ready to fall asleep in an instant. Just then, however, she noticed Catira standing in front of the window on the other side of the room with her back facing the trainee. The elf was wearing sleek black trousers, a dark green tunic, black boots, and a thick gray cloak, with an elven sword and dagger at her belt, a bow and quiver at her back, and a satchel at her feet – all as if she was about to embark on a long journey. Her not very elvish brown hair was held back by a black leather band.

"I knew that you left Uru'baen," Cat said thoughtfully, turning to face a now-upright Nora. "I created a spell that alerted me of when you left. But I didn't come to help you because I thought you would come here or that I would hear of your escape through other means. I didn't even imagine your plot. For that, I apologize."

"My plan was meant to be unpredictable. Why bring this up now, Cat?"

"I left because I was afraid that I would be recognized and that you would be punished for my lengthy presence…as if a child could have known. Now, I think that it may have been worth it to risk waiting until both of us could leave and I could bring you here."

"It would have been foolish. The elves wouldn't have trusted me then. Besides, I only left because I thought that Murtagh would join me a year later. Now, my brain is so muddled by his death…I don't know what I was thinking."

Yes, she had said 'death'. After all that time of trusting her instincts to tell her that Murtagh was captured but alive – even that dream – Lenora had given into the opinion of her peers. She thought she had been really falling in love with the boy. But he was gone and she had so many things to worry about with her training and deciphering a way to defeat Galbatorix that he had become nothing more than a fond memory and a motivation for revenge against the king. Catira probably noticed, but, instead of reacting, she remained in that faraway, thoughtful state. Her blue-grey eyes, normally alight with joy and hope, were sad and focused.

"I was merely eighty-two years old when I last participated in the Agaetí Blödhren celebration…too bad I'll miss it…and it's in less than a week. Hopefully, we'll all be alive for the next one."

"You're leaving? When?"

"Tonight." Nora was speechless. Hearing this news made her stomach drop, as if she would no longer be safe in this haven of elves. "I just wanted to say goodbye and tell you that I am very proud of the warrior and healer you've become."

"Cat, you're acting as if I'm not going to see you again. Where are you going?"

"There have been rumors of a new guerrilla faction 'somewhere in the middle of the Empire'. They're claiming to have ties to the Varden, but the Varden denies such a connection; however, one of the their village contacts, Tygrid, happens to be part of it. It seems that they are beginning to be quite a nuisance for the Empire."

"Potential allies. But why you?"

"I've been going back and forth about going on a mission again ever since I returned from Uru'baen the last time and this was a chance that allowed for some…freedom of movement."

"Why did you hesitate before now?"

This question significantly disturbed the elf.

"There are…reasons behind my acute hatred for Galbatorix. It was only the desire to find the last egg in his possession that drove me to finally attempt that mission as your maid, despite everyone's hesitance. This is my chance to return to active service for my people. I have been treated as a home commodity for many years, both as Arya's caretaker in her youth (when I was too worthless to do anything else) and as Oromis' healer. I have trained you enough for you to discover your own path – that was Oromis' excuse when I went on my first mission during the Fall, for he had seen me in battle already. You are your greatest critic, Lenora Garmdautr. Keep yourself safe."

"Catira, why do the elves keep calling me 'wolf daughter'?"

She didn't even blink.

"Because that is what the wolves call you."

* * *

><p>Lenora awoke with a start, sweat dripping down her face…again. But this time, instead of some horror about Murtagh and Galbatorix, she dreamt about her mother. Nora had been sitting on her mother's knee as her six-year-old self, listening to the elf woman's beautiful voice croon a lullaby; but then, Ivanyel had turned into a wolf, jumped out the window, and disappeared into the night, leaving the child alone and frightened. Why did the wolves have to reenter her thoughts now?<p>

Shaking away the chilled feeling that had descended, Nora reached for the cup of water on her nightstand and barely noted how much her night vision had improved with the elves. But, upon replacing the cup, she knocked something off of the table that she didn't recognize. As the thing had rolled under her bed, she crawled onto the floor and groped around until she grabbed it and brought it to the window for the moonlight. As soon as she saw what it was, the girl dropped it as if it was hot iron…but too late.

Like clockwork, half a dozen wolves howled towards the moonlight nearby and Nora hugged herself as goose-bumps covered her bare arms. Then she looked down at the hand that had held the ring – there was a glowing red mark that, while stinging before, had gone numb.

Was the room spinning? She couldn't feel her feet. And were those eyes there glowing in the dark?

_She was on a cliff. And she was falling. Right into Shruikan's gaping maw._

"**We are sorry, ****Garmdautr."**

* * *

><p>Catira let her mind wander as she let her feet lead her in the right direction. She was sad to leave Lenora now, but she was safe in Ellesmera and the elf needed to mend her own past of horror…not run away from it, but just to move on in her life. She couldn't sit around thinking about it anymore, the suffering she had endured after the Fall…it was too much. If she allowed herself to sit and think about it anymore…no, she needed her revenge on that filthy, trigger-happy, cruel…it was a good thing none of his little Forsworn minions were still alive for her to get her hands on…<p>

She was born before the fall of the Riders and trained by them (mostly by Oromis) in the art of magic, though she excelled especially in healing among the elves. Still under Oromis' teaching, she fought against Galbatoroix and Forsworn after they had arisen. In fact, she and several other elves had been honored with a special mission: to recapture the Eldunari already in Galbatorix's possession. But her companions were killed and she herself had been…captured.

For a moment, Catira just stood in the darkness of the trees, shivering at the memory of that time. She was nothing compared to what she could have been. If not for Brom coming to rescue her…

This was why she needed to move on.

* * *

><p>Eragon was carefully going to through the first stages of the Ragamar, very much looking forward to Nora's usual relieving visit so he could get some actual work done. But, instead of Lenora, it was a young elf who raced into Oromis' clearing with wide eyes and rather rushed sentences.<p>

"Oromis-elda, some of us feared that there was something strange in the air…Islanzadi sent me...Lenora Ivanyelsdaughter has disappeared…we had thought that the wolf pack was harmless, but…" The elf gulped and took a moment to compose himself while Eragon just stared in horror, not believing his ears. "We don't know how, but Lenora and the wolves have disappeared; they took her in the night. Queen Islanzadi already sent out search parties, but I fear that Galbatorix or one of his servants has found a way through our nets."

Oromis quietly contemplated this news for moment, his eyes clouded with distress.

"I had hoped that it was only a false concern in the night. I thought I felt a surge of magic, but it was so faint that I thought… I believe the wolves have something to do with this, as you suspected – what exactly, I know not. We can only hope that this was a fluke and Galbatorix has not truly found a weakness in our only real defense against him. And if she has not been found yet…"

"Master," Eragon stuttered, "does this mean…" He couldn't say it.

"Eragon, I'm afraid that Lenora may be lost to us. Let us try scrying for her, but I fear that it may be for naught."

It wasn't exactly reassuring. He couldn't understand how a bunch of wolves could have just snatched the half-elf out of Ellesmera in the middle of night and not been caught yet, even traveling through the elf forest. Had he truly lost his friend and the only person who had helped him not become a crippled mess? The thought made his heart sink. Without her healing help, he could never possibly have the strength to go off and rescue her. He was helpless to help the woman who had done more for him than he ever deserved. He realized more than ever...he was diminished.


	22. Black Butterflies

Hey look, a chapter! :D Thank you to those who reviewed, as always, and please enjoy. I had fun with this one.

Black Butterflies

_Butterflies they gave me such a feeling  
>Every time I saw your face<br>They started flying  
>Now my heart is in the shadow<br>Of the creatures they turned into  
>And I wish<br>That I could make them fly away – Rihanna_

"**What have we done, Sakima?" **the eight-year-old female asked in horror.

The slightly older male gray wolf looked over at the still-sleeping human-elf. The female's chest swelled with pride just looking at the wisdom in his eyes. She had chosen her mate well, all those years ago.

"**We had no choice, Gaho."**

"**But she is the Garmdautr. Wolfsister entrusted us to watch her and..."**

"**We had no choice!" **Sakima snarled, teeth showing as a deep growl erupted from his throat. The seven younger wolves looked up at the two leaders with cautious curiosity. Sakima and Gaho rarely disagreed on anything, but those rare times were serious times. **"Not only were we cursed by the egg-breaker, but..." **

He paused in his anger and she took advantage.

"**But we promised Wolfsister that we would protect her. We named her Numees as our sister, as our own. She trusted us."**

She had only managed to anger him further.

"**Do you think I do not remember the name we gave Wolfsister? Would you rather disappoint that royal tree-elf or condemn your own pup to a fate worse than death?"**

"**She gave us our gifts, though."**

With another snarl, Sakima bounded up, his teeth gleaming in the moonlight.

"**With those gifts, what do you think the egg-breaker would do to Alyana, our **_**daughter**_**? There are only ten of us, Gaho. After we lost Cheveyo to the men-with-metal-sticks, how can you willingly let this pack lose another member? Numees Wolfsister is not coming back soon. We are alone. And those gifts are not all good. Ahote cannot start his own pack because all other packs fear our connection with the two-legs and would kill him and his mate Magena if they ever left the safety of our numbers; the same with Makawee and Gomda. Wolfsister has cursed us just as much as the egg-breaker. Do not tell me that your loyalties have been bent that much."**

Gaho shuddered.

"**You know that my pack means more to me than anything. I know that the curse prevents us from letting Garmdautr go free, but we still break our word. I will offer my life to Wolfsister after we recover our pup. My honor depends on it."**

With his head hanging, Sakima backed away. He could argue in favor of saving their pup and the impossibility of their situation, but he could still see that Wolfsister was one of their own, despite being an elf. They had rescued her and she had protected them from two-legs with the wooden death-birds and metal sticks.

Gaho looked around at her pack as its members finally settled back down in restless tension. They had barely hunted in several days since the curse had driven them to bring Garmdautr to this place in all haste; they were all skinnier than she would have liked. Luckily, this location was far away from two-legs, near a creek, and well-sheltered by trees next to a wide meadow where deer were sure to appear. She loved her pack more than anything – her family was all she cared about: Sakima her mate, Alyana the pup, Ahote and his mate Magena, Makawee and her mate Gomda, the other sons Ahiga and Kajika, and other daughter Tehya. She couldn't lose them. Garmdautr would have to be sacrificed.

A great rushing of wind startled the pack and sent them nearly fleeing, but the curse kept them from going far. They had no choice but to finish this.

Eventually the beating wind took the shape of a great red-winged-lizard with a dark figure riding it. Gaho remained crouched down, ready to spring if this stranger had any ill intentions; but then her ears caught the sound of a pup's whimpering somewhere on the two-legs' person.

"Do you have her?" a low, suspiciously breathless male voice asked.

The pack parted in response, constantly glancing worriedly at the red-winged-lizard, and Gaho led the human to where Garmdautr was laying in the soft moss. Warily looking around at the growling wolves around him, the human slowly reached into a leather pouch at his side and removed the pup.

Something was wrong. Alyana had been two weeks old when the two-legs had taken her less than a day before their entrance into the elf forest over two months ago…when the delayed curse was brought upon them. She still looked to be two weeks old. But it was still Alyana. What had the egg-breaker done to her? Something between a growl and a whimper emerged from Gaho's throat as the pup scampered away from the human with joyous yelps.

"Galbatorix halted its aging so that it would be more manageable," the human said quietly to the still-wary mother. "It'll be fine now. I have released you from your spell, so Galbatorix can't control you anymore. Don't try to attack me or I will kill you all."

With another growl, Gaho retreated into the shadowed trees with her pup, followed by her pack-mates, only to turn around and watch once she was hidden. She was relieved to have Alyana back, but she was still a traitor for losing Garmdautr.

Once the wolves were in the shadows, the human bent down and brushed the black hair out of Garmdautr's face. It was a strange sign of care for someone whose eyes looked dead. But then his voice took on an even stranger tone of softness.

"I'm sorry, Nora. I'm so sorry."

* * *

><p>There was no sound except the dull padding of Catira's light steps on the grassy ground. Her thoughts had wandered far on that journey. Now they wandered to the vine necklace she always wore, given to her by a Dragon Rider oh so many years ago…such a dear man. It numbed her soul to think that there could never be another quite like Brom – so brave, stubborn, strong, thoughtful. And he had saved her. And then he had gone undercover…and was never the same. What had happened in the court of the king?<p>

Catira hated to admit it, but, in his training, she had grown quite fond of Brom. And then she lost him. Truly, the news of his death had nearly crushed her, but she stood firm. She had long accepted the fate that she would be alone forever. She was a healer who had seen too many deaths to expect someone else to share that burden of memory. Just the thought of forcing another person to suffer the consequences – the horror and trauma of the mind and soul – of her experience…she was repulsed at herself for even thinking it.

Hers was a lonely life. The dragons had not chosen her for a Rider; fate had not granted her any relief from pain in her fighting and torture; she had felt no liberation from her depression until she had pushed it away with vengeful thoughts and hard work; and she could never fall in love because she would rather die than have another person see into her heart and soul. Feeling vulnerable scared her more than anything in the world. Vulnerability meant weakness and pain. She was all too familiar with the reality of those words.

Her thoughts skipped again. She felt sorry for the elf Queen. After all, having seen a vision of Arya's capture and racing to investigate, Catira had been the one to report the devastation left behind by Durza, beginning Islanzadi's temporary drop into depression and anger. This mission would make up for the pain she had helped bring.

* * *

><p>"Never focus on nothing but defense. Keep yourself protected, but don't wear yourself out. In a real battle, the more you are able to conduct a safe attack, the quicker you will defeat your opponent and face the next without having your head severed for your own distraction. Keep your knees bent, man! Standing like that, your enemy will just have to push you over and let you get trampled.<p>

"We have been doing well against the Imperial supply parties, but we are being noticed and, one way or the other, we will likely be finding ourselves fighting alongside the Varden. I am giving you the edge to survive against the king's men in battle and earn a reputation as a disciplined and fearsome force to be reckoned with. Let's make an impression worth remembrance."

Leaving his men practicing with each other in the clearing in the middle of the camp, Eedom went to the edge of their camp against a small forest. Something made him go look out over the field, but he didn't know what. Nothing was moving out there except a few birds; the lookout's bored expression seemed to confirm the lack of action.

"I don't know why I'm here," the lookout grumbled. "Between Shadowsword, you, and Rowena, we never have to worry about being found after our attacks."

Eedom grunted, only half satisfied. It was better than good that they had managed to stay so safe, so far, but the people were getting almost too comfortable. They had begun to think that they were some invisible, undefeated army that would eventually take Uru'baen single-handedly, with or without the direct presence of the Varden.

But three hundred men, women, and children was neither a conquering army, nor an invisible one – it was a traveling village with swords and lot of luck. As much as Ajihad and Eedom had pressed them to be cautious, the women who had taken it upon themselves to cook took no pains to hide their fires, the smoke, or the smell. Any Imperial force passing within half a mile of them would instantly attack with no mercy.

And, as much as he hated to admit it, they needed a magician on their side – someone who could give them the edge they would eventually need to survive these harsh times.

"Chris, what is that?"

"I don't see anything, sir."

Eedom furrowed his brow in annoyance. Why did everyone seem so blind, even this lookout who was praised as the 'eagle eye' of the company? Of course, it had always been like that. He could spot something in the distance and give an exact description of it before anyone else had even caught a flicker of movement.

"Chris…there is a man only a few miles out coming this way. Can't you see the cloak flying in the wind?"

Chris looked at him he was crazy.

"Only a few miles out? No offense, sir, but are you playin' with me? If there was a wide block of an army coming, sure I would see it with the help of my looking glass here! But a lone rider?"

"He's not on horseback."

"What!"

Eedom ignored him and called for three soldiers, ordering them to get horses and ride towards a clump of evergreens three miles away until they found something. Then he turned around and stalked back to his trainees to call for a halt and send them about their work; they had been training since dawn and it was already nearly ten o'clock in the morning. He couldn't believe that the lookout hadn't been able to see that man! They could have been spotted and had an army falling upon them and not know what hit them!

Waving to the carpenter's wife, who was busy making a new chair, he knocked on the center post of Ajihad's tent and entered. The leader was splashing water on his face from a wooden washbowl on the floor, sprinkling his shirt and trousers with wetness. He smiled at Eedom's mild confusion.

"Fine morning, isn't it? I just returned from walk in the forest to see what would face us on the other side, should we need to cross it. It's been too long since I last enjoyed a forest. But tell me, Eedom, what brings you here?"

Eedom actually had quite a few things, other than the approaching stranger. While he liked being lighthearted and careless, as these people seemed to be and as he had been when he was on his own, this would not do now. He was a soldier, trained for discipline and order when on a campaign. Even their leader was beginning to grow lax.

"Ajihad, we... I don't mean to doubt your judgment, but…"

The dark man didn't let him finish.

"You think that this company is turning into a moving village?"

Eedom stammered for a moment, standing a little straighter.

"Well…actually, that's exactly what I was going to say."

"Eedom, this has turned into something much bigger than we ever imagined. We weren't sure what to expect before, I had at least imagined it as a collection of rough farming men who would fight just for revenge for the destruction of their farms. But there were entire families and villages who simply never had the means to reach the Varden and who hate the Empire with a passion. We may have not expected women and children to be involved, but I'm glad that they are here. The sound of children laughing does more for morale than any campfire song; and the women…those who aren't training with the men are doing ten times the work with a passion. If not for them, I fear this venture would have failed."

"Sir!" a scruffy boy yelled, popping his head into the tent. "There's a stranger coming towards the camp. Three of the men have gone to apprehend him."

"Good. Bring him here."

With the boy gone, Eedom awkwardly looked at his feet, muttering,

"Yeah…that was the other thing I was going to report."

Ajihad's look was grave, but his dancing eyes held complete humor.

"It just might be a little important."

"Just a little."

Some time passed before the guards arrived and, by that time, Ajihad and Eedom were already seated in the two rickety chairs. Two of the men entered, one each holding an arm of their captive, and stopped in the middle of the small space.

"We found her stopping for water. As far as we know, she was on foot and alone."

"She?"

Though the stranger's full, hooded gray cloak was still shading her eyes, Eedom caught a hint of a smile on her smooth face.

"You doubt it?" the woman asked, the smile showing in her musical voice. "And please tell your boys that I don't need anyone to show me how to stand in one place."

Eedom heard Ajihad chuckle behind him before apparently motioning for the guards to leave. Once they were gone, he spoke up.

"You are surrounded by my men and are under the watchful eye of my second-in-command, so I fear you not. Now, tell me what your intentions here are, my lady. And perhaps you could lower your hood for us to see your face."

"You have no reason to fear me, Ajihad, dead leader of the Varden." With that, the woman reached up and slowly pushed the hood back, revealing silky brown hair, a fine, sculpted face, enchanting blue-grey eyes…and delicate _pointed_ ears. She was an elf! "I scryed you once with Arya. You've certainly aged. It's amazing – the lifespan of men. Your lives are like flowers, blooming and fading, but you act as though you are invincible."

"You seem to know me – my true identity included – but I do not know you, elf."

"I'm Catira, a healer from Ellesmera. You know my previous ward, Arya. It seems that I now know what all this fuss was about. Only Ajihad could accomplish such a feat."

"If what you speak concerning your identity is true, then you are welcome here. But how and why did a healer of the elves suddenly decide to track me down."

"Not just you. Word of this campaign of yours is spreading fast and I volunteered for the elves to investigate."

Eedom decided to jump in right there. He rarely trusted elves…even beautiful ones.

"Interesting, but, with all due respect…"

She beat him to the punch.

"Why send a healer and not an elven warrior or scout? In human standards, I suppose I look very good for my age. But I can assure that, in the 182 years that I've been alive, I have gotten around enough to have plenty of stories to tell." Eedom nearly choked on the air. Had he really just been checking out a woman more than seven times his age? "Now tell me, where have I seen you before?"

"Perhaps you saw him when you were scrying for me," Ajihad suggested.

"No. Ever since your disappearance, it is impossible to scry you; Lenora was thorough. It's something else. Stranson, have you ever been to Uru'baen?"

Eedom paused at the painful memories that swept over him at the reminder of his days with the Empire. Duchess, his beloved dog, truly deserved the pampering she was getting here, if only as a reward for saving him. He then pulled himself out of those memories to answer with a hopefully straight face:

"I was once a soldier in the Imperial army."

"I was there on a mission several years ago…perhaps there. What happened?"

He didn't want to answer, but something about her eyes told him that she would understand. She hadn't accused him of deserting like most had; she just asked.

Before the young man could speak again, Ajihad cleared his throat and stood, saying,

"Consider yourself a welcome guest, lady elf. I hope you will consider staying and helping us in our task to reach Surda?"

"I'll consider it."

Abruptly left alone with this newcomer, Eedom offered the empty chair to Catira, was turned down, and then left to try wording his response to the previous question. She stood there, cloak still veiling her form, patiently waiting with her intense, laughing eyes fixed on him. Again before Eedom could decide whether or not to answer her previous question, Yelivan suddenly came through the tent flap, muttering apologies for the disturbance before stopping short to stare at Catira with wide eyes. The elf in turn blinked several times in quick succession, exclaiming,

"You! It's you."

Yelivan vaguely shook his head, fear evident in his eyes.

"What do you mean, Catira?" Eedom asked.

The other two people just stared at each other for several moments, neither moving, speaking, nor breathing. Before he could attempt to remedy the awkwardness of the moment, however, the elf spoke again, smiling and looking rather ashamed of herself.

"I apologize, Eedom. I bumped into your servant outside and did not realize until now how much he looked like his mother. Yelivan, is it? I recognize your mother from a mission…good woman."

"Thank you…my lady," Yelivan cautiously replied. "Sir, I just wanted to let you know that I will be gone for a few hours. I offered to fetch some mushrooms for dinner."

And, with that, he fled the tent with swift steps.

"Nice to see you too."

"Umm," Eedom began, "…what was that about?"

The smile that Catira offered him was a little too sweet.

"Just what you heard me say, good sir. Anything beyond that is none of your business. We should discuss your plans for this company now. But don't think that you're getting out of answering how you escaped the army."

"Wouldn't dream of it," the man grumbled, opening the map of Alagaesia. He could already see himself either greatly conflicting with or greatly falling for this elven beauty. First, he would need to figure out what was going on behind that charming smile.

* * *

><p>In the dead of night, Murtagh finally got the chance to slip into the Hall of the Soothsayer. The king had just moved her down there in hopes of having better luck – supposedly, she had been 'difficult' for the past couple of weeks. It wasn't surprising, as she had always been strong. It was painful though, having not seen her since Galbatorix had forced him to go fetch her from the claws of the wolves. He was actually afraid of what he would find in this dim, hot room.<p>

His heart jumped upon seeing the empty stone table. Had he moved her again? What happened?

Then he heard a shuddering breath from the corner.

"Who are you?"

Her voice was shaky and small – nothing like the old Nora. The room seemed to suck of the life out that once beautiful, strong voice; it hurt. With quiet steps, Murtagh crept over to where the girl was curled up against the wall in a light off-white dress that stuck to her skin from sweat and blood. Her long hair was frizzy, limp, and serving as a curtain for her face. Her bare wrists and ankles were raw and red from the shackles that had held them most of the day. He could just imagine the dark circles under her eyes…and the hurt and shock. It tore at him, but he wasn't quite sure how, whether from loving her as a fiancé and his old best friend or as simple human sympathy.

"It's me," he whispered, sitting on the floor in front of her. With continued caution, he reached to cup her chin in his hand – even there, he felt several small, partially healed scabs. "It's over, for now."

"And then?" was the trembling prod. He still couldn't see her eyes in the shadow.

"He… He'll use your imagination and memories against you to create hallucinations. For a while, you won't know what's real. And there won't be any escape. I'm sorry I wasn't here for you."

She was silent for a moment. She hadn't moved. Then the voice came again, dead and weak.

"You will be here…before the end."

"He may consider you a traitor, Nora, but you're still his daughter and his best bet for an heir. He won't kill you."

"Just like he didn't kill you, Murtagh?" The suggestion stung. Yes, he gave in; but he had more to lose. "Was it me? Did he use those hallucinations against you through me?"

"No," he answered, his voice gaining a little harshness. "It was someone else…somehow, I knew it was real…I could feel their pain in my very soul, Nora. I couldn't stand it. Not then." The king had sworn him to not tell her about Thorn or how she had been brought here. He couldn't say anything more, but, when she looked up enough for him to see her dark, tear-filled eyes, his insides twisted into a knot. "I knew deep down that you were safe."

"Someone else…"

Those two words. Right then, whatever remained of Murtagh's former self-respect died. A man like him, who caused his own betrothed to feel so betrayed, to feel such pain, was not worthy of life. He valued his life enough to not do something too drastic. But he still felt himself slipping beyond caring.

"Nora, I don't want to tell you to give up, but I know that your father won't stop until you do. I can't help you. I'm his slave now. I have no choices."

"The Murtagh I grew up with wouldn't give up so easily, even under such impossible circumstances. The Murtagh I knew dreamed of the life of a quiet wanderer, free of all tyranny. Not this."

"I told you," he growled, "I don't have a choice. Besides, despite being crazy, his ideas are solid. If I could kill him and use his plan with more stability, I would."

"His plan includes torturing people into submission, slaughtering villages, controlling minds for his own purposes, and being a lonely old miser. His plans are worthless to this land, Murtagh, however he may have twisted your mind to think otherwise."

"I don't know what to say."

She shivered and stared at the floor.

"You've said enough, Murtagh."

* * *

><p>Nora faintly watched Murtagh stand and leave the room. His broad shoulders were slightly slumped as if under a great weight and his feet were dragging a little on the floor. She wondered why, instead of feeling heartbroken that he no longer seemed to love her, she just felt...empty. But she couldn't let herself feel sorry for him. Her dream would prove itself true. Soon, he would watch her be tortured without a single reaction; she had already noted the familiar dagger on the night-guard's belt; and now, she just needed the opportunity. She didn't worry; it would come. She knew she would somehow escape and go to Murtagh's room to see him one last time before jumping out the window into the unknown. She was desperate enough to ignore the heights, now. She hoped. She just needed to wait.<p>

But her body refused to agree. It trembled from fear and pain. Already, she had been branded and hit and whipped – the Twins had been allowed to attack her mind with their dual dagger-like viciousness – beaten and cut – the Imperial mark on her shoulder stung anew with a fresh carving from an enchanted dagger…it seemed that the scar became more prominent every time she was captured and subjected to this.

She hated her weak body for trembling at the thought of what was coming, even after all of her training. She hated her mother for falling for Galbatorix, giving birth to a daughter, and dying before she could do anything useful. She hated Angela and her bloody predictions of choices – what choice was there? She didn't love Murtagh as she once thought, so how could her heart be happy by choosing to stay with him under Galbatorix, the obvious curse of the prediction? She hated this life and its choices and its pains. She hated Galbatorix, the father who only ever treated her as a daughter in order to gain her trust for the disadvantage of others and his own greed.

Yes. Hate.


	23. Russian Roulette

Wow! A chapter! Imagine that. Finals are over, so I should be able to get cooking on this writing...maybe even finish the story before the end of the summer. hmmm... Hope you enjoy! And thank you, as always, for your reviews! They make my day and give me fresh ideas. :)

Russian Roulette

"We expect to receive a missive from Nasuada in the next few days, requesting assistance from Islanzadi and that you rejoin the Varden. I intended to inform you of the Varden's predicament then, when you would still have enough time to reach Surda before swords are drawn. If I told you earlier, you would have been honor-bound to abandon your training and rush to the defense of your liegelord. That is why I and Islanzadi held our tongues."

"My training won't matter if the Varden are destroyed," Eragon objected hotly, but Oromis remained calm.

"No. But you may be the only person left who can prevent them from being destroyed, for a chance exists – slim but terrible – that Galbatorix will be present at this battle. It is far too late for our warriors to assist the Varden, which means that if Galbatorix is indeed there, you shall confront him alone, without the protection of our spellweavers. Under those circumstances, it seemed vital that your training continue for as long as possible."

At that, Eragon's anger for being kept in the dark about the Varden's danger melted away in an instant. It was a brutal, cold truth, but he now understood Oromis' reasoning. Personal feelings couldn't get in the way.

"You were right. My oath of fealty compels me to ensure the safety of Nasuada and the Varden. However, I'm not ready to confront Galbatorix. Not yet, at least."

"My suggestion is that if Galbatorix reveals himself, do everything you can to distract him from the Varden until the battle is decided for good or for ill and avoid directly fighting him. Before you go, I ask but one thing: that you and Saphira vow that – once events permit – you will return here to complete you training, for you still have much to learn."

Once both dragon and Rider had accepted the request, Oromis bestowed upon them several magnificent gifts. He was overcome by the faelnirv, the belt of Beloth the Wise, and the scroll containing Eragon's poem from the Agaeti Blodhren, but what caused emotion to truly arise was when the ancient elf gave him a long, light bag of various weapons.

"Islanzadi left these in my care," he explained. "This satchel contains the weapons left behind by Lenora Ivanyelsdaughter when she was captured. If you find her in your travels, please return these to their proper owner. I can only hope that that day is soon."

This Eragon took with abrupt solemnity. Wherever Nora was, he hoped that she was alive and had escaped somehow. The very idea of her being back in the hands of the man she had been running from for so long was torment in itself.

* * *

><p>The air going in and out of her lungs felt like a thousand daggers stabbing into her chest. Still, she forced herself to continue the process of the drawing in those gasping breaths. Her heart pounded out a methodical, panicked drumbeat in her ears, blocking out any other sound of the night as she stumbled along. Her tired eyes barely saw anything but the ground directly under her feet. She didn't know where she was or how long she had been going like this – only that she was tired.<p>

She didn't even remember exactly how she had gotten here, aside from vague flashes and the memory of the original dream of her escape. The last clear thing was her meeting with Murtagh in that horrid torture chamber when he had warned her of Galbatorix's plot for her torment. What had happened between then and now? Even now, she could barely remember what she had been doing or thinking merely ten minutes ago. How long?

"_Let me go!" she grumbled, writhing in her bindings. "You know I won't change for you."_

"_What about for Murtagh?"_

"_Murtagh! What have you done with him? Where is he?"_

_The king laughed._

"_You've only been here three days and, in our first conversation, you go directly to fretting over that boy."_

"_He's my friend."_

"_He's your betrothed."_

_Nora scowled and shot back,_

"_He's my _friend_. Just _try_ to wrap your blown-up head around that one."_

_Galbatorix's jaw tensed, but he otherwise remained calm._

"_Perhaps this dungeon cell will clear your head, Lenora."_

"_Where. Is. Murtagh?"_

"_Why concern yourself with him? He is busy. And we have _much_ to discuss during your stay here, daughter. Besides, he doesn't care that you're here. I think he'll enjoy the company, however."_

How had she survived those days? Did Galbatorix know that she would get away? Did he set her free on purpose to attain some important goal? Escaping from Uru'baen was no small feat, so how had she done it? What was happening?

Nora thought she heard the galloping of horses behind her and forced herself to go faster. Maybe she was being chased. And her body hurt everywhere! How long had she been tortured without help? She felt blood running down her side and stumbled again.

* * *

><p>Murtagh had been furious when Galbatorix kept him away from Nora for so long. But she wasn't the same. She was even more bitter and untrusting than before, and she no longer loved him, just as he was no longer sure he loved her.<p>

Now, she was gone. The king had let her go on purpose, but tricked her into thinking she had escaped. He claimed that she would return without any prompting from magic, but Murtagh didn't see how or why. If she had the Varden to fight against her father, she wouldn't pass up the chance for revenge. It was cruel, but most things in this world were.

Now he was going to be sent into battle with the Varden. Could she have made it there by now or had she died along the way? Just because he didn't know if he loved her anymore didn't mean that he couldn't care. She was his only friend…she was.

* * *

><p>"<em>No! Murtagh!" the girl cried as she was shocked back into consciousness by a lightning-like pain searing through her shoulder. The instant she realized what had reawakened her, Nora felt her body convulsing in terrible sobs. How could a father do something like this to his own daughter with his own hands? Only a monster. "Please, stop! STOP!" <em>

_When her begging was ignored, she fell silent and bit her lip until blood poured into her mouth and onto the table. The dagger dug deep into her shoulder – deeper than it had ever gone the past two times the Imperial sigma had been imprinted in her flesh. She screamed again until she felt something in her voice snap as it turned a raspy yowl. How long would this go on?_

Some time long ago, she had stopped. She shoulder was numb, the rest of her back felt as though it had been stung by an entire hive of bees, and her bitten lip gave off a dull throb. She remembered little that wasn't either foggy or a dream from that time. She did recall seeing Murtagh and being…perfectly awful to him. What had she said to him? Couldn't she have shown him some compassion? After all, she had thought that he was dead! How could she just count him as a lost cause after that? Yes, he was Galbatorix's slave now, but he was still Murtagh. Had she really lost her chance and already taken the crossroad of her life? Had she made the right choices?

She vaguely heard voices in the distance, but couldn't bring herself to react to them.

* * *

><p>"You were really undercover as Lenora's maid?"<p>

Catira's bell-like laugh rang across the plain as they walked towards a small patch of trees. Having her as a part of Ajihad's company, newly dubbed the _Lamvarden_ or the Varden's Hand, had been a pleasure beyond words. She was incredibly witty, wise, and beautiful – there was no denying it. She had been the one who suggested their change in direction to cut straight down to Surda rather than following the Spine; they were now at about the halfway point between Uru'baen and Surda.

"Yes, Eedom, I was."

"But…while I was there, in Uru'baen?"

She just smiled, showing those perfect, pearly teeth.

"Yes. And I _do_ remember you, sir."

Eedom cleared his throat nervously.

"Oh dear."

"Yes, I do happen to remember a certain young soldier who stopped little 'Ira' in the royal gardens on her way to the laundry and asked her if she was married."

He felt his cheeks start burning.

"That was _you_? You have to understand that I was young and didn't know when to shut my bloody…"

"Eedom," she interrupted, "I may be a 'noble, solemn, wise, ancient' elf, but I'm not exactly typical. My elf friend Arya would have stared you down 'til you fainted. _I_ thought it was cute. You humans are so interesting – taking life by the horns and never losing an opportunity when it comes – like you flirting with that servant girl or Ajihad instantly starting up this troop after being dropped in the middle of nowhere." She paused. "You still haven't told me how you came to be here."

"Can I really trust you, elf?"

Those serious words came so fast that he didn't have time to think about what he was saying, but Catira was unflustered.

"Tell me your story, Eedom…and I will tell you mine."

"Really?"

"Yes, Eedom."

"I grew up in the town of Daret, in the northern Empire, the only child of a blacksmith."

"That explains the muscles," she interrupted with a smirk.

"_Anyway_, since we dealt with travelers that passed through town, including many Imperial soldiers, I ultimately became fascinated with the stories of distant lands. When the king's soldiers came looking for recruits, I volunteered, hoping to return wealthy and well traveled. I was trained and spent quite a few years gaining rank and reputation before finally leading a garrison from Uru'baen to Teirm. Before we got far, we all suddenly fell ill. In the end, all were dead…except me. Once I recovered, I took everything of value from the dead, buried them, and went back to Daret. I only found my parents' graves. If not for a stray mutt suddenly appearing while I was grieving, I would have lost all hope. She saved my life, and we've been avoiding the Empire ever since."

Just then, the named dog came bounding towards the duo, barking joyously and encouraging another laugh from Catira.

"So, you owe your life to this dog. Although, I think Yelivan is winning her heart over…he seems to have quite the talent with dogs; I even saw him once surrounded by an entire pack of wolves, scratching them behind the ears as though they were pets. If it were possible, I would say that his mother was a wolf."

He laughed at the thought, but instantly sobered again.

"If I was caught and recognized by the Empire, I would be hanged as a deserter when they realized that I didn't die with my companions."

"So, by helping Ajihad in this campaign, you are risking your life – not just from dying in battle, but in even having your name heard."

"As word of us spreads, I think all of us have more to look forward to than a quick hanging."

Catira cocked her head in a bird-like fashion.

"You have much bravery, Stranson."

"Hardly."

"Have you ever wondered why you were the only one to survive the illness?"

"Every day… But I want your story, now."

He noticed how the elf quickly found something very interesting in the silent plain.

"You don't want to hear it."

"Fair is fair. You promised your past in exchange for mine."

For a moment, Eedom didn't think she would answer, but she did…with the tone of an emotionless drone.

"I'm old…by human standards. I was born before the fall of the Riders…before Galbatorix was even born. I was trained by the Riders but failed to have a dragon hatch for me. After Galbatorix and the Forsworn rose up, I and several other elves were sent to recover the lost Eldunari; they were killed, I was captured, and _they_…_tortured_ me for information. Brom, the founder of the Varden, saved me eventually, at great risk to his own life.

"While I recovered in Ellesmera, I became the guardian of the Princess Arya, since I couldn't do much else. For the longest time, every attempt at even basic magic was…painful failure. If not for…for a good friend who was in a similar position, I would have lost my spirit. Nevertheless, I eventually recovered and excelled in healing beyond anything I had ever accomplished before.

"Years later, long after Brom had rescued Saphira's egg, I finally decided that I needed to serve my people and get my revenge. I went undercover as a servant in Galbatorix's court to try to find the last egg. I convinced the queen to let me go, altered my appearance with magic, and became servant to the king's daughter. I didn't even know the king _had_ a daughter until then! I grew rather…attached to both Lenora and the son of Morzan. After a few years, however, I worried that I would be found out and Nora would be punished, despite not knowing who I was. I escaped, but, when I removed the magic cover, the brown hair and blue eyes stayed."

Eedom closed his eyes in thought. A strange emotion had entered her voice upon mentioning Brom, but he decided not to mention it.

"You were tortured? How long?"

The woman visibly shivered.

"I don't know."

A cough suddenly caught their attention from a patch of trees nearby.

"What was that?"

Catira scanned the shrubbery and froze for a split second before rushing forward.

"Nora!"

Sure enough, there was a thin, black-haired girl dressed in rags and cuddled up next to a tree. It was Lenora. Through chattering teeth, the girl hoarsely asked,

"What have I done?"

* * *

><p>"More news has just arrived from the mayor Tygrid concerning Calath Shadowsword."<p>

Nasuada leaned forward in anticipation. The followers of Shadowsword had been gaining more attention than ever since they had shifted their direction toward Surda and begun calling themselves the 'Lamvarden'. According to Tygrid's last report, it had become a considerable force. And who was this Shadowsword? The description of this intimidating but kind, dark stranger who had suddenly appeared to organize this miracle made her think of her father. If only he was here now…

"Please report, Jormundur."

"They have changed course from the west and are going almost directly south between Dras-Leona and Uru'baen towards Surda."

"Surda!" she interrupted hopefully.

"Yes, Surda."

"When will they arrive?"

Jormundur's eyes shifted.

"Unfortunately, not for at least a week, at this rate."

Nasuada's shoulders slumped.

"Then they won't arrive before we meet the Empire in battle."

"I'm afraid not."

"So…Lenora has been captured, Eragon has yet to arrive (assuming that the message arrived unhindered), and we have no reinforcements to expect…"

"He will come, Nasuada."

"I know…I know."

* * *

><p>"How is our new arrival?" Ajihad asked, coming through flap of the small tent. He instantly recognized Lenora as the unconscious girl on the bed, but he was shocked at how thin and feverish she looked, her skin just as damp and pale as when Eedom and Catira had returned carrying her.<p>

"She was burning up and her injuries reminded me of…something I saw a long time ago. Only Galbatorix and his minions are capable of such cruelty."

"Do you think she'll live?"

Catira shook her head sadly. She had been sitting with Nora for four straight days now and looked completely spent.

"I don't know. Her injuries are healed, but she is still ill. She gave up hope in life and her mind is now torturing her. I tried with all my power to help more, but… Galbatorix, that…! If we hadn't found her, she would have been dead in another two days, at most."

"Then it's lucky that you and Eedom took that walk and found her. Keep me informed, but you should get some rest first."

"I can't. If I can't help her, no one can."

"If you've done all you can do and she is still not recovering, you have to take a break."

"Sir…"

Suddenly, plump, freckled Rowena burst in, having the heard the last few sentences.

"Catira," she said, "I'll take watch. I don't want to see you for at least four hours. And no arguing. I don't care if you never have to sleep a wink. Even elves need to rest."

"You might want to heed her warning," Ajihad offered, smiling a little with amusement at the stubborn elf. "But I do want to warn you: Galbatorix's army is marching towards Surda (and they probably arrived since I received that news). I plan to pick up our pace a bit to hopefully arrive in time to help."

"Don't forget, Shadowsword, that you have children in this company. Their safety must be a first priority."

"Once we're close enough, if battle still rages, we will leave the women and children with the bulk of our supplies half-a-day's march from the fight."

Cat was not pleased.

"The reason you trained the women was so they could fight beside their husbands, not cower with the supplies."

"They are going to _protect_ the children and the supplies until they reach the safety of Surda. We don't have the resources to do otherwise."

"Then do you intend to leave me behind, as well?"

"You are an elf, trained for decades in the ways of magic and warcraft. You must help. They have been training for mere months."

"A lot can happen in a few months. Just look at yourself."

"That is true, but, as much as I respect your judgment, my decision stands."

The elf's stare was as ice. She knew he was right, but it still bugged her.

"Fine."

* * *

><p>Nasuada listened to Eragon's tale of Ellesmera with complete fascination – everything except the details concerning Oromis' existence. Everyone in the Varden had been shocked to see him, especially since his appearance had changed so drastically in the Agaeti Blodhren.<p>

"Your scar is gone, then?" Nasuada finally asked, receiving a nod in response. The Rider finished his tale of his leaving Du Weldenvarden and their journey, earning a bit more respect from the woman for their determination in aiding the Varden. "What a tale. You and Saphira have experienced so much since you left Farthen Dur."

"As have you," he replied, still marveling at the Varden's massive military camp that sat beside the fuming Burning Plains. "It's amazing what you've accomplished. It must have taken an enormous amount of work to get the Varden to Surda…. Has the Council of Elders caused you much trouble?"

"A bit, but nothing extraordinary. They seem to have resigned themselves to my leadership." With her chain mail attire clinking together, she turned to Orik, welcomed him, and listened to what highlights he desired to relinquish. "I am heartened to know that if we can weather this onslaught, we shall have the elves by our side. Did any of you happen to see Hrothgar's warriors during you flight from Aberon? We are counting on their reinforcements."

"**No," **Saphira answered through Eragon. **"But then, it was dark and I was often above or between clouds. I could have easily missed a camp under those conditions. In any case, I doubt we would have crossed paths, for I flew straight from Aberon, and it seems likely the dwarves would choose a different route – perhaps following established roads – rather than march through the wilderness."**

Determined to know what he was getting himself into, Eragon asked,

"What is the situation here?"

Nasuada then provided the depressing tale of how she and King Orrin of Surda had discovered the approach of Galbatorix's army and their desperate scramble to bring their men to the Burning Plains before the king's soldiers could reach it. She finished with,

"The Empire arrived three days ago. Since then, we've exchanged two messages. First they asked for our surrender, which we refused, and now we wait for their reply."

"How many of them are there?" Orik growled. "It looked a mighty number from Saphira's back."

"Aye. We estimate Galbatorix mustered as many as a hundred thousand soldiers."

Eragon couldn't believe his ears. The number was outrageous!

"A hundred thousand!" he exclaimed. "Where did they come from? It seems impossible that he could find more than a handful of people willing to serve him."

"They were conscripted. We can only hope that the men who were torn from their homes won't be eager to fight. If we can frighten them badly enough, they may break ranks and flee. Our numbers are greater than in Farthen Dur, for King Orrin has joined forces with us and we have received a veritable flood of volunteers since we began to spread the word about you, Eragon, although we are still far weaker than the Empire."

Eragon cringed at what Saphira asked him to relay next.

"…what do you think our chances of victory are?"

"That…" Nasuada paused for emphasis. "…depends a great deal upon you and Eragon, and the number of magicians seeded throughout their troops. If you can find and destroy those magicians, then our enemies shall be left unprotected and you can slay them at will. Outright victory, I think, is unlikely at this point, but we might be able to hold them at bay until their supplies run low or until Islanzadi can come to our assistance. That is…if Galbatorix doesn't fly into battle himself. In that case, I fear retreat will be our only option."

"I see."

This news greatly troubled Eragon. He was fairly confident that his new strength would allow him to overcome a good many of the king's magicians, but the number of the Imperial soldiers and the constant suggestion of Galbatorix's appearance made him worry. He wasn't strong enough to fight him. These constant reminders made Eragon very much wish that he had taken more advantage of Nora's knowledge of the tyrant's character and power. Nasuada's sentence caught him somewhat offguard.

"Arya has told me that Lenora was captured. My condolences. While this may sound insensitive, I hope she died rather than give any information or fealty to Galbatorix."

"Of course she would…but I hope with all my being that she is alive and free somewhere. I have come to think of her as a sister."

And it was true.

"**We'll see her again," **Saphira said softly. **"Lenora is strong and will fight with every inch of her being."**

"**Even that worries me. Knowing her, she would have slit her own wrists before letting herself fall."**

* * *

><p>Sometimes, your life is so horrible that you can only escape it in your dreams. Things that are traps, horrors in real life, become mere figments of the imagination, replaced by love and light. You imagine yourself happy and carefree. But for some people, their destinies are filled with such grief that even a dream can't escape it. You are trapped in a sort of twisted <em>samsara<em>, a loop that never ends no matter how you try to escape through heroic or good deeds.

Sometimes, you have to resign yourself to the fact that you will never escape this. There is no hope. Instead of fighting an unwinnable battle, you give into the darkness and simply do what you can with what you are given in fate. But is this true? Are some people really simply unable to escape one path that is before them and find another? Are people so driven by instinct and self-preservation that they just can't save themselves, even if they are on the brink of being saved?

Am I, Lenora the daughter of King Galbatorix, bound to this fate of returning to my previous life of being trapped in court – stifled by luxury, fearing every breath, and having pain and torture haunting every step? Can I escape it? Will my lifelong attachment to Murtagh and my desire to protect him make me choose the path of the joyous betrayal of my newfound people? Did he even still care for me enough for it to be worth it or should I stay by his side purely for the sake of our past bonds? Or could I break away from this deep-seated loyalty and fight for my land and people beside the Varden, however it broke me and tore my soul to shreds?

"_The arrow means that your path is chosen and set, either by you or others. Yet you also have two choices, which lead to pains of their own: For the first... The rose blossom on a half moon means that your lover will be one of great power and strength. The rose represents nobility and the half moon is power in magic; and you both possess this. Ah, you will be wonderful! Together, you will be complete and unstoppable__. __Sadly, while the two of you will be an epic couple, it will not come with freedom. Here is the clenched fist, an image of control and slavery. Someone will have complete mastery over you…and you will be feared. Perhaps having knowledge of your true name…?_

_"Then there is the other path. See how these branch off the other direction from the arrow? The crossed blades mean that you will suffer a terrible conflict against yourself and people you care for. This leads to the next crossed sign: the broken rose. If you take this path, you will be seen as a heroine among the people; however, despite the good it will bring, you will forever regret it. And then, over here, there is the storm cloud with the lightning bolt. Perhaps this is why you provoke others to step cautiously around you…danger…"_

Despite that prediction, we wouldn't be "epic lovers" but by force and fear in the eyes of others. He had said it himself: someone else was more important than me, and that person's danger caused him to break. The Varden will hear all about this…every detail, even if I do just go back in the end.

What of Murtagh? Was he really trapped under the king's boot?

And Eragon? Had instinctual fascination driven his affection for Arya to the point of hopeless obsession? I'll have to have a talk with that boy.

And Arya? Could she really be trusted as family, after all those years of hating me?

And what of Ajihad and Eedom and Nasuada and Roran and Katrina and Angela and all of those people for whom I feel responsible? I'm the daughter of Galbatorix, the enemy; that gives me a responsibility to protect these people from him… But would I really be serving them better by staying? I know I will have to follow my heart, in the end, but I don't know what my heart wants anymore. I don't know if I ever knew. I don't know if I even know myself. There's a part of me that holds the power of my heritage and knows where I'm supposed to go, but I'm afraid to unleash that power. What if I go insane like my father?

I don't know what to do. I'm scared.

My skin feels as if it were on fire with a hundred needles poking into my flesh. I am bathing in my own sweat and the blanket over the lower half of my body feels like a thick comforter of goat hair. There are voices around me, but it sounds like they are a mile away underwater. The light of the lamp nearby blinds my eyes like the sun. The few people at my bedside are looming over me, dark figures of ghosts and demons. Now they're gone. And Galbatorix is there, always in the back of my mind waiting for me to return.

"Eragon…"

The young Dragon Rider is the only person who can ease my mind of this fear. If he was here, I could tell that this wasn't a hallucination. Maybe all of the running was really just my mind racing. I don't remember how I escaped. Maybe this is what dying is. After how I treated Murtagh – if it really was him – I didn't deserve to live.

I'm worthless. A traitor. A misfit. An orphan.

Maybe this is death. Through the fog of my tear-filled eyes, I can see a beautiful woman with black hair and enchanting green eyes.

"Mother…"

Maybe death wouldn't be so bad after all. No worrying about choosing paths and the fate of a nation – just blissful surrender.

But there's a voice...a sweet, musical, mature voice that calls me to be strong. What are those words? They're in ancient, but my mind is too clouded to… I'm tired. Maybe I should have used my power when I had the chance to help. But it's too late, now.


	24. Paths and Fate

First of all, thank you to those who reviewed! You are amazing people!

Second, a few bits of news: firstly, I have re-enabled my anonymous reviews; and secondly, I have a new poll on my profile to help me decide what story to write after I'm done with this one and would really appreciate any votes I get…I'll close it some around the conclusion of this fanfic. Thanks and enjoy!

Paths and Fate

_Ivanyel and Selena watched their toddlers play in the courtyard with their usual solemnity. Both women had willingly chosen their own fates and both equally regretted it. They remained trapped in their husbands' shadows because of vows they had made as witless girls and for fear of their children's safety if they tried to escape this life. They were both changed at heart and knew they could escape if they wanted, but could they really get away with it when Galbatorix and Morzan considered these two infants to be the legacy of their rule? Part of them still loved their husbands, but hateful tyrants were only to be hated, now._

"_This has to stop," Selena suddenly said, her voice as steely as the sword at her waist._

"_I know," was all the elf said, her eyes tearing themselves away from her daughter to look at the Black Hand._

"_If we can't help them escape now, perhaps we can change their fate for the future, when we may not be here to help."_

_Ivanyel stared almost through Selena._

"_What do you wish to tell me, Selena?"_

"_You know of Brom, correct?"_

_She nodded slightly._

"_The brave man of whom we know nothing…and who has apparently caught your affection quite sincerely."_

"_He says that he's going to steal the egg soon, meaning that he will be leaving."_

"_Then we will have done our part to help the resistance," Ivanyel said matter-of-factly._

"_You don't understand. It doesn't end there. Ivanyel, I need you to promise me that you will look after Murtagh while I'm gone."_

"_Where could you possibly be going, Selena?"_

_A look of painful resignation came over the human female._

"_Home."_

"_Home!" Her wise eyes widened with shock. "You mean to escape? Without your son? Do you realize the danger you could bring to your family? And to abandon your son!"_

"_I have no choice! I'm not going to let Morzan hurt another child of mine. It may be too late to save Murtagh myself, but I will not have another ruined soul on my conscience."_

"_Another… You are with child? I thought Morzan has been ignoring you for the past few months aside from sending you on missions. If…" Realization overcame her. "I will watch Murtagh. How can I help you escape, my friend?"_

* * *

><p>If this was death, it certainly wasn't what she was expecting. She had expected maybe green fields or a white calm or simply nothing. No, she was floating through the dark halls of her childhood home, the palace of Uru'baen – yes, floating. Servants and soldiers passed her by without seeing her. Was she a ghost? Of all things, she at least expected to see her dead mother. If this was death, she certainly felt shortchanged.<p>

A tall figure suddenly walked right _through_ her, sending chills down her spine, before disappearing a ways ahead and entering the throne room. Naturally, since she was apparently invisible, she followed. The massive space within still left her in awe and horror – precisely why she had avoided it when growing up.

The man she had followed was pacing before the horrid throne in solitude, grumbling to himself under his breath.

Galbatorix hadn't changed. His gray beady eyes still had that same, wild craze as before.

"Ivanyel, what did you do to make her hate me? I'll show you. When she stumbles upon the Varden, finds their weaknesses, and realizes that here, with power and glory, is where she truly belongs, her eyes will be opened. No more fighting. She'll come on her own. I thought Murtagh would be a good enough incentive, but apparently not. Maybe he'll find her in the battle…which side will she choose? She thinks she escaped on her own… We'll see how much she is like her mother. She'll come. She won't abandon her past."

Nora couldn't help herself.

"Why talk to my mother?"

The king spun around, eyes wide.

"Where are you? Show yourself! You dare disrespect your king?"

Nora hadn't meant to actually draw any attention to herself, but then she remembered that she was only a ghost to these people.

"You carve your insignia thrice in my flesh and you wonder why I wouldn't respect you? You only make me glad I left. You know nothing of me. I didn't crave power or fame or even an epic love story. I craved freedom; that was the one thing you could never give me. With you alive, I could only choose to fight or give in; either choice provided death in one form or another."

"Nora?" His perplexed voice and expression showed genuine concern and sorrow, but she knew better. "Where are you, my child? Why do you speak in past tense?"

The idea of being able to vent her emotions on Galbatorix without suffering the consequences was intoxicating. This man had ruined her life. For all she knew, she was dying or dead. It was time she finally gave up hiding herself. No more secrets. She hated Galbatorix. She thought of Murtagh as her dearest and oldest friend. Arya was her family. Eragon was the Rider whose future, if she had the chance, she would not let go astray. Even if all she could do was shout it out, Galbatorix would fall, Murtagh would be free, and Alagaesia would never see another tyrannical reign again.

"YOU!" Her voice filled the room, startling the man. "You have the nerve to call me your child after you treated me like dirt on your boot, tormented me, twisted my mind, and sent me half dead into the wilderness. You killed my mother, tortured my cousin, and enslaved my best friend. You're a monster."

The king was still looking around, obviously thinking that Nora had managed to sneak back into the castle after days and days of being gone. How long had it been, anyway?

"Are you sure you don't love him." She didn't answer. "Lenora, come out and we can discuss this face to face like a father and daughter should."

"What do you know of how fathers and daughters should act? You never did! Because of you, I may be dead in the wilderness. Is that how you killed my mother? By torturing her and leaving her in a ditch to rot?"

Galbatorix's face suddenly became a mix of deviousness and sadness.

"Lenora, I never killed your mother."

Nora gasped as the room faded from sight.

* * *

><p>Upon seeing Nora's eyes open, Yelivan quickly stood up and called,<p>

"Rowena! Rowena, she's awakening. Hurry!" and bolted out as soon as the plump woman's shuffling could be heard outside.

"Easy there, lad. It's a good thing she's waking up. Shadowsword says she saved his life," Rowena clucked upon running into the servant. "I'm sure you're just as curious what this Nora girl is really like, so why don't you stay a while."

"No, ma'am. I have duties to attend to."

Before Rowena could protest further, the servant had already put two tents between them.

* * *

><p>Queen Islanzadi drummed her fingers tediously on the arm of her fireside bench in the solitude of her private quarters. Her daughter was gone and her niece had been snatched right from under her nose. Now they knew the weak point of Du Weldenvarden and could fix it. The wolves must have been enchanted before entering the forest and the spell had not shown itself until Ellesmera… But did Galbatorix know how he had slipped through the elven nets? Regardless, that hole had already been sealed. Their defense was tighter than ever and they were preparing to war against the king.<p>

Through everything that was happening, the elf worried for Lenora, the only thing she had left of her sister. At first, when Ivanyel had turned up in Galbatorix's court, Islanzadi was only capable of feeling betrayal and hate. It wasn't until Arya reported her encounter with Lenora on the western reaches of Du Weldenvarden that the grudge finally began to fade into curiosity. But it was too late to attempt direct reconciliation with her younger sibling. When the queen had scryed for Ivanyel, all she saw was black, empty nothingness – Ivanyel was dead. Nora had to live, if only to keep part of her kind, innocent mother alive with her.

"_Ivanyel, where are you?" Islanzadi questioned in the ancient language, the corner of her mouth twitching with annoyance. _

_A light laugh like the vocalizing of the stars rang out from above._

"_Up here, sister."_

_The princess turned her blazing green eyes toward the branches of the Menoa tree. Suddenly, a cheerful elf of a mere seventy landed in front of her, black hair flying like wings. She wore green trousers and a fine, silver-laced brown tunic with a delicate silver circlet on her head in contrast to her sister's white leggings and flaming red tunic with gold thread. Aside from their twenty-year age difference and contrast in attitude (Islanzadi being more solemn and Ivanyel always having a contagious joy about her), they appeared to practically be twins._

"_You really should contain yourself, sister. It's unbecoming to have you running around like a thirty-year-old."_

"_Come now! Even Father spends plenty of quality time flitting about the trees for comfort and peace. You should try more often. If you become Queen one day, you'll be no good to us if you have no flare for the simple things in life."_

_The heir-apparent scowled, but she fully realized that she would be wise to follow Ivanyel's zest for life, as the older sister always stuck her nose into books and spent every morning ceaselessly sparring. Ivanyel just had a special innocence. One could almost say that she had taken all of her passion and spontaneity from her studies of Humans. It was almost frightening how fascinated she was by those short-living creatures. But even Father had insisted that she had something to learn from Ivanyel._

_Islanzadi suddenly grinned._

"_I'll race you to the treetop."_

The Queen had stopped drumming her fingers. Without Ivanyel, she had lost a good part of that 'zest for life' that always managed to affect her. After the betrayal to Galbatorix, Islanzadi had become so bitter and distrustful that she had even given up her own daughter for dead upon hearing of her capture, cut off the outside world (including the Varden), and abandoned her duty of scrying Alagaesia for news. Yes, Nora had to be alive. Maybe Ivanyel's daughter could help her make recompense for abandoning her sister.

* * *

><p>Catira sat in a chair at Nora's bedside, dabbing the girl's forehead with a damp rag. She felt much more refreshed, thanks to Rowena booting her out of the tent for a few hours to get fresh air. Usually, the elf was perfectly fine in spending days at a time ministering to her patients, but Galbatorix's tortures must have had some magical effect that had drained her healing powers. Luckily, Nora's fever had finally broken and she had awakened long enough to drink some water and ask Rowena where she was. It was only a matter of time, now.<p>

They had made camp for the night only a few days' march from Burning Plains, where the Varden were supposedly camped. As a distraction, Cat had taken up making fairths of the scenery they passed; of course, having limited material to make the blank slates, she ended up just reusing the same one. Having eliminated her last portrait of Eedom – oddly emphasizing his eyes – she tried to remember what Brom looked like…it was so long ago, now.

Seeing that Nora wasn't stirring, Catira set her slate down and went to fetch more water.

By the time she returned, Nora was actually sitting up with the slate in her hand, glaring at it fiercely.

"Don't be disappointed if your abilities are diminished for now, Nora," she commented while setting the pitcher of water down. "Much of your strength was drained between your tortures and my healing you, and it will take a while to return."

But then she saw the front of the slate – the magic imprint was a perfect replica of what Catira recognized to be Murtagh. His image here was older and more agitated than what she remembered from all those years ago, but it was still him. The background was black with an ominous red glow coming from behind the lad, he was dressed all in black, and there were dark circles under his sad, soulless eyes.

"Did you see him in Uru'baen, Nora?" the healer asked sympathetically. She moved to put gentle hand on the girl's tense arm, but there was no answer. "If he really is alive and a captive of the king, then you have something even more to fight for."

"No," she finally growled, hurling the slate to the floor and shattering it into a dozen pieces. Then, she said, "Maybe."

Catira continued to look calmly at her charge and stated matter-of-factly,

"That was my only slate. Luckily, I may be able to repair with magic."

"Sorry."

"Galbatorix's devilry made it extremely difficult to revive you. You were probably having all sorts of nightmares and hallucinations along the way."

"Hallucinations? So…maybe Murtagh isn't really Galbatorix's slave, or he at least hasn't changed as much as I thought. …or maybe all of that – the dreams…his visit – were all just dreams and hallucinations? Maybe he really is dead…"

"Oh, I doubt that." That most definitely caught the princess' attention. "The night after I found you, I managed to scry one of my friends who lives just outside the castle and she mentioned Murtagh."

"Then he must be a prisoner." Her eyes were hopeful. "What I remember must have been a hallucination! He hasn't given in yet."

"We can hope." But she couldn't put any enthusiasm into that tone. This news was bad - very bad. Unfortunately, it wasn't definite enough to try informing the Varden of it. What to do?

_Catira stared at the image in the water with a creased brow. While Maureen frequented the castle in doing her errands as a baker, sometimes even for the palace, she was not a servant of Galbatorix and therefore not subject to his cautious magical blocks. During her time undercover, Cat had found that the baker often heard even the most secret of things while she worked. And she also tended to tell these secrets as gossip to her husband, also a baker._

"_Andre," the woman said casually to her husband as she stirred a pot of soup over the fire, "I heard some very interesting news today when I went to deliver those rolls to Lord Voldare."_

"_Mm-hm," Andre hummed through his pipe, as usual not really caring for the news of the castle, despite the fact that they lived practically at its doorstep._

"_It seems that that boy who ran off…oh, two years ago, has come back…even made up with the king! Murtagh, was it? I was hearing a few whispers about him bein' connected with one of them dragon eggs, too. Seems that new free Rider might have some extra competition. In fact, I think I saw him walking down the hall with the king himself – strutting around as if he owned half the place! He's turned into quite the looker, even I can admit. I married you, anyway."_

"_Mm-hm," Andre hummed through his soup._

"Cat?"

The elf blinked a few times as she came back to reality.

"What is the story behind this ring?"

Nora looked down at her ring finger in surprise, apparently having forgotten about the delicate band. It was silver with a vine pattern twining around it to the peak of a small, deep green emerald.

"It just…appeared on my bedside table the night I was taken in Ellesmera. I knocked it down and it rolled under my bed. When I picked it up, it glowed and burned my hand. Soon after, I blacked out and woke up in the dungeon of Uru'baen."

"Have you seen it before?"

"Not for many years, and only for a brief time. Galbatorix said it was an exact replica of the ring he had given my mother. He expected me to wear it when my engagement to Murtagh became a formal affair. But I don't love him any more."

"May I ask why you decided you weren't in love with him?"

"I got sick of the self-pitying brooding."

"If you don't love him and you disapprove of this engagement, why are you still wearing the ring? You could have cast it off at any point, even during your imprisonment."

"I…don't know."

That was obviously a subject that required dropping, for now.

"Are you sure you don't remember anything?"

"I'm sorry I can't tell you anything about Galbatorix's doings. I don't even know if I saw Murtagh, now that I think of it."

"Very well. I'm sure we'll have plenty of time to discuss this later. For now, I want you to rest."

But she didn't look very ready to rest at all.

* * *

><p>"What's love got to do, got to do with it<br>What's love but a second hand emotion  
>What's love got to do, got to do with it<br>Who needs a heart  
>When a heart can be broken?"<p>

- Tina Turner

* * *

><p>Having lectured Eragon about his curse upon the child Elva and having greeted Saphira, the witch Angela finally settled down and gave the boy a cup of tea, which he was careful to check for poison – he still didn't know if she was completely trustworthy.<p>

"So," she said, eyes twinkling, "I hear Lenora was snatched right from under your nose and the nose of every single elf in Ellesmera."

Eragon despondently stared into his tea.

"Yes. It was soon before my transformation."

"Hehe! I can't help it but laugh when the great magical elves are fooled…especially when it's by a pack of wolves."

The boy glared.

"Why are so happy about this? And how do you know it was wolves?"

"Again, lad, I have my sources."

"Nora was becoming a good friend. She didn't deserve to be captured like that, without a chance to fight back. I don't even know if she's alive!"

"Oh, she's alive and well; don't you worry."

"How do you know this?"

"Because my predictions haven't come true yet! She has choices to make that will affect you, Eragon, and possibly the entire realm. Her fate is still unfolding."

"I...don't understand."

Angela shook her head in disbelief.

"Oy, the boy does not learn! Your paths are entwined one way or the other, Eragon. Do you think it was random that she fled to your village after the elves rejected her or that she happened to help you escape from the Ra'zac or that she happened to be in Gil'ead when you were captured?" He didn't bother asking how she knew about those things. "When you see her again (and you will see her again), Lenora is going to have some very difficult choices to make that could either secure or destroy your friendship.

"You may be the "Varden's only hope" and her dear friend, but Murtagh was her best friend and betrothed. Things like that don't just disappear for the wishing. She may not see it yet, but her loyalties are still linked to that boy. It's up to you to see that they don't cloud her judgment to the point that she makes a stupid decision."

That made…a little more sense. But Murtagh was dead!

"So…no pressure, huh?" he concluded sarcastically. "But, whatever her decisions, I need to stay focused on the end goal: defeating Galbatorix. I can't afford to be too distracted."

"Get it through your thick skull. She is Galbatorix's _daughter_. She may be rebellious and hateful towards him, but she is still the king's flesh and blood and his only 'legal' heir. There was also a reason she was engaged to marry Murtagh: so that they could carry on the royal line – Galbatorix would only trust his daughter to marry the son of his most loyal servant.

"If she goes to his side, either forced or voluntarily, and the Varden doesn't succeed in defeating Galbatorix, they will have a problem. If she, the heir to the Imperial throne, joins Galbatorix, you may have to kill her to gain full victory and the full allegiance of the people in the Empire."

Eragon's stomach dropped at this realization. As long as the king's blood survived, he would always have a hold on the control of the Empire. If he had poisoned Nora's mind somehow… Eragon didn't want to hurt his friend.

"So," Angela prodded, sensing the need for a change of subject, "I assume you already spoke with Nasuada, Arya, and King Orrin." Eragon nodded. "And what do you think of dear old Orrin?"

Considering that Orrin was the king of Surda, the Rider was careful in choosing his words.

"Well…he seems to have a great many interests."

"Yes, he's as balmy as a moonstruck fool on Midsummer Night Eve. But then everyone is, in one way or another."

The witch's forthrightness gave his next words a little boldness.

"He must be crazy to have carted so much glass all the way from Aberon."

"What's this now?"

"Haven't you seen the inside of his tent?"

"Unlike some people, I don't ingratiate myself with every monarch I meet."

* * *

><p>"Catira," Eedom noted light-heartedly, "have you noticed that Ajihad has been spending an awful lot of time going off with Rowena lately? For a stalwart leader and a soldier, he is certainly becoming lax."<p>

The elf shook her head in amusement as she studied the map on the table.

"I can't blame them. They make a lovely couple. And I think he deserves to have a little happiness after all that has happened."

"True indeed. But hopefully they get back before we have to break camp for the final leg of our march. Our scouts reported that the battle is already in progress on the Burning Plains, so we need to decide whether to go there and help the army recover from battle or go to Surda and await their return to regroup." He then paused in fiddling with his dagger. "Do you believe in fate, Catira? I have been struggling with this question for many years, but I never find an answer that satisfies me."

"Perhaps you don't find an answer because the answer isn't what you want to hear," Cat suggested, but she sensed Eedom's dissatisfaction. "I do believe that fate exists, at least to a certain point; however, we often have our own paths to choose – choices that decide what our fate will be. Many magicians see the future, whether they only glimpse it in a dream once in their life or they dedicate their lives to it and have visions on command. I myself have seen the future several times, but my attention to healing hasn't allowed me to grow in that ability. It's like literally being in the future for a few brief moments."

"So…it involves magic."

"Yes. Why do you ask?"

"I'm just curious. It's not every day you get to just chat with a powerful elf magician."

Catira seemed satisfied, but the memory of his dream still lingered. It had awakened him for five nights in a row now. And it was so vivid.

_Eedom's hand shook as he gently turned the unconscious elf onto her back. She was covered in bruises and had a bleeding cut on her temple, thanks to being hurled against the wall a dozen times. He paused to cough, which resulted in his sleeve being splattered with more blood. His own beating had had some nasty aftereffects of their own. Cold stone was not a friendly landing when you were being magically thrown across a room. So much for helping Eragon._

"_I'm sorry, Eedom," Nora said from twenty feet away. She didn't come to help, but he knew that she was genuinely concerned. "I don't have a choice."_

"_We all have a choice, Lenora," he replied, using his weak ability to heal Catira's major injuries. He couldn't help but feel angry. "You chose to betray the Varden."_

"_You have to understand – I didn't betray the Varden. This is my way of fighting the good fight. I swore to defend Galbatorix…" _

_Eedom closed his eyes as he heard her approach. He tensed upon sensing her kneeling down._

"Eedom, are you sure you're all right?"

There Catira was, healthy and uninjured as she looked up from safely studying the maps. A dream was a dream. Before he could answer, however, Rowena burst into the tent, breathing heavily and looking rather frazzled.

"Where is Ajihad?" she breathed.

"I guessed he was with you at the moment," Eedom offered, ignoring Cat's glare.

"I suppose he is still at supper."

"What is the problem, Rowena," Catira asked kindly.

"It's Nora. She's gone missing. She was just meditating and I turned my back and she was gone."

Eedom's heart skipped a beat. This was not good.


	25. Thorn and Leaf

Thorn and Leaf

From the ground, Eragon could only gape as the shadowed figure came into focus. It wasn't a Lethrblaka. Worse. The creature, glowing and sparkling in the sun like a hot bed of coals, had wings the color of wine, claws and teeth and spine as white as snow, and bright red eyes gleaming with bloodthirsty hunger. A dragon.

The Rider in the saddle wore polished steel armor with a covering helm and held a hand-and-a-half sword. Who…?

Before Eragon could finish his thought, the other Rider raised a hand and sent a shaft of crackling ruby energy shooting from it to strike Hrothgar, the dwarf king. The king's spellcasters, after crying out in pain from their consumed energy, collapsed dead and were soon followed by their leader. The entire newly arrived dwarf host gave a groan of utter despair.

"No!" Eragon screamed, unable to do anything as the battle seemed to pause around him as his energy was too drained. Frantically, he looked around for a source from which he could revive himself and found a stallion struggling for life with a spear through its side.

As he bent down to take the horse's energy, he murmured, **Sleep, brother.** The transfer didn't restore his energy so much as it soothed his aching muscles from the battle thusfar. At least it helped.

Jumping onto Saphira's back, the lad turned to Orik and shouted,

"Orik, take command of your kinsmen!"

He caught a glance of a concerned Arya across the field but couldn't spare but a passing thought. In one smooth movement, Saphira launched herself into the sky and sped towards the red dragon.

"**I hope you remember your lessons with Glaedr," **he commented to his partner.

There was no answer but her roared thoughts to the other dragon:

"**Traitor! Egg breaker, oath breaker, murderer!" **

Then, they both began a fervent assault against the minds of the other pair, seeking to overwhelm their defenses. But the consciousness of the other Rider seemed strange, almost as if it contained multitudes of spirits begging to be released. The other Rider retaliated by sending an incredible attack that caused Eragon to retreat behind his own barriers and search for a mantra Oromis had taught him to keep his head. Even Oromis hadn't been capable of such force!

As the mental siege halted, the dragons collided with bone-crushing force and began grappling at each other for the advantage. While the red dragon was smaller than Saphira, his legs and shoulders were thicker and able to kick her away. They dueled for quite some time, during which Eragon became aware of two new magicians on the Empire's side who were beginning to easily overwhelm the Varden's Du Vrangr Gata one by one. In his mind, he could hear Trianna, the leader, scream,

**"Shadeslayer! You have to help us! We can't stop them. They'll kill all the Varden. Help us, it's the –"**

He couldn't hear the end of the sentence as the strange Rider stabbed at his mind again.

"This must end," growled Eragon as he watched the red dragon dive underneath Saphira and saw his opportunity. "Catch me!" he yelled, severing the leg straps of his saddle and jumping into the air.

The rush of air made his eyes water and tore off his helm, but the red dragon was unable to thoroughly evade his plan. Lashing out with Zar'roc, he felt the blade sink into the creature's flank and found himself spinning from the impact.

The dragon roared in agony.

Unwilling to use his energy reserves to stop his fall, Eragon waited for Saphira to finally catch him.

"**Never do that to me again,"** she snapped.

"**It worked, didn't it?"** the young man responded, noting the generous amount of blood left on his sword.

His pleasure in victory was quickly soured, however, as he realized that his stunt had left Saphira completely at the mercy of the red dragon. He hurtled at her from above, keeping her from escaping by his biting and buffeting of wings. The two creatures twisted and lunged at each other until their tongues lolled out of their mouths from exhaustion and they gave in to gliding rather than trying to flap their wings. With his mind still blocked, Eragon said out loud,

"Land, Saphira; it's no good. I'll fight her on the ground."

Saphira merely grunted in resignation as she moved to land on a small stone plateau on the western edge of the Jiet River. She didn't counter his assumption of 'she' in referring to the Rider. While the foe had more bulk and build than his guessed personage, it was a likely assumption – appearances could always be altered by magic. He leapt off of Saphira as soon they landed to test his footing; the other duo landed a few seconds later and the Rider casually slid down to examine the long gash on the red dragon's leg.

Eragon let this take place; he knew the pain shared between dragon and Rider. But it seemed that he waited too long: with a few muttered words and a few seconds, the wound was seamlessly healed. The ease of this caused Eragon to shiver with wonder. At least it wasn't Galbatorix.

As the two Riders met at the center of the plateau, their swords met with fearsome speed, red sparks flying. With light feet and a complex series of quick blows, Eragon was able to force his opponent to the edge of the stone platform; but that was where his advantage ended. The other Rider was able to fend off every one of the lad's attempts, as if he could anticipate every move he was about to make. Only three people had ever been able to do that, and he was only fairly confident that one of them was alive.

His energy reserves were running low to a point where his strength would give out at any minute. Fully rested, he would have been able to defeat this foe; but, at this rate, he was only being pushed back with his fading strength. No, this wasn't Nora. Even if her appearance was magically altered, it wouldn't explain the extra strength – and she would have been far more graceful and nimble in her fighting style.

Zar'roc grew heavy in his hand, his shoulder burned, he gasped for breath, and sweat was pouring down his face. Not even the desire to avenge Hrothgar could spur him onward. He collapsed, but he refused to be killed lying down. Eragon rolled back to his feet and stabbed at the Rider, who knocked Zar'roc aside with a lazy flick of the wrist. The way he then flourished his sword, spinning it in a quick circle by his side, suddenly seemed familiar. With growing horror, he shouted,

"I know you!"

He launched himself at the Rider, trapping both swords between them, hooked his fingers underneath his enemy's helm, and ripped it off.

And there in the center of the plateau, on the edge of the Burning Plains of Alagaesia, stood Murtagh.

* * *

><p>"<strong>Land near those trees."<strong>

"**Why?"**

"**I need time to think before we return to Uru'baen."**

"**Why?"**

Murtagh sighed.

"**Just…land, Thorn."**

"_You _died_, though!" shouted Eragon. "You died under Farthen Dur. Arya found your bloody clothes in the tunnels. Nora didn't know what to do."_

_This troubled Murtagh, but only slightly._

"_No, I did not die. It was the Twins' doing, Eragon. They took control of a group of Urgals and arranged the ambush in order to kill Ajihad and capture me. Then they ensorcelled me so I could not escape and spirited me off to Uru'baen."_

"_But why did you agree to serve Galbatorix? You told me you hated him. You told me –"_

_Visions of those endless tortures fill Murtagh's memory and he laughed madly,_

"_Agree! I did not _agree_. First Galbatorix punished me for spiting his years of protection during my upbringing in Uru'baen, for defying his will and running away. Then he extracted everything I knew about you, Saphira, Nora, and the Varden."_

"_You betrayed us! I was mourning you, and you betrayed us!"_

"_I had no choice."_

"_Ajihad was right to lock you up. He should have let you rot in your cell, then none of this –"_

"_I had no choice!" Murtagh snarled. "And after Thorn hatched for me, Galbatorix forced both of us to swear loyalty to him in the ancient language. We cannot disobey him now."_

_Eragon face suddenly became solemn._

"_It is good that Nora isn't here to see you now. You have become your father."_

As soon as his feet touched the ground, Murtagh removed his armor as quickly as possible and wiped his sweaty brow with his sleeve. Nowadays, the only person he could ever show any real humanity to was Thorn. Anyone else and he risked punishment from the king…such punishment. Without Nora, his best friend, to help him, he had lost himself almost completely.

Feeling much freer without the constricting, hot armor, the young man fetched Zar'roc from where he had stored it on Thorn's saddle and gave it a few swings. The heritage it reminded him of was a bloody and horrible one, but it was his only inheritance and it was, at this point, quite fitting for the slave of Galbatorix. It felt good in his hand.

Yes, things were better this way – he was alone and Nora was free…and Nasuada was the leader of the Varden. Thinking of that woman brought a flood of a vision of those deep, enchanting eyes that belonged to Ajihad's daughter. Such grace, yet such strength. Nora, like him, had always been more keen on surviving for herself; Nasuada had thought about nothing but her people. Thorn didn't understand these complex feelings.

Turning to walk backwards, lost in thought as he continued to experiment with his new sword and entered the stretch of forest, Murtagh didn't pay any attention to where he wandered. He could still see a confused and concerned Thorn crouched down in the shaded clearing, so he wasn't concerned. But then he sensed the presence of someone else there. There was a light voice floating on the air, almost as if it was part of the breeze's melody. Naturally, he went to investigate.

The voice paused once when Murtagh accidentally snapped a twig underfoot, but it never completely ceased during the five or so minutes that he crept along.

"**What is it?"** Thorn curiously asked.

"**I don't know. Stay put, but be ready in case I call. I might need those bloody Eldunari again, for all I know."**

The singing had gotten loud enough to where he began looking up in the trees to see if the source of the voice was in the branches. Then, something stopped him short. A stocky cedar tree at least three feet wide was shivering violently and spreading its roots further and further by the second. At the moment, the roots, tip to the trunk, spread to be about thirty feet long each. Even as Murtagh stood there hidden in cautious wonder, the lower branches parted and the trunk seemed to sculpt itself into an elegant spiral staircase. The movement finally stopped after about ten minutes.

Then, Nora appeared, wearing a white dress, slim leather boots, a thick brown cloak, and a shoulder satchel. She looked sad and even thinner than usual, as if the king's tortures, whatever their full extent had been, had completely taken their toll. She froze halfway down the stairs, rigid, upon seeing Murtagh standing there. He was still marveling at the tree, as well as her presence.

"So, there you are. How did you do this?" he wondered.

"I found out much about my heritage during my time with the elves," she replied quietly, her voice slightly hoarse as she cautiously eyed Zar'roc. "I see you have your father's sword."

Old bitterness was renewed at that reminder and he gripped the handle a little tighter.

"Your precious Rider is still alive and well, so you need not worry. And you needn't worry about your precious Varden either. They won this battle. But the king will not let it happen again. I was strong enough to defeat Eragon now, and I will be even stronger for next time."

Nora's pale lips parted in faint shock.

"You defeated him – a Rider? How?"

The young man then remembered that Galbatorix had purposefully kept his daughter in the dark about Thorn during her capture…probably so that the Varden would not be warned of him before the battle.

"The red egg hatched for me."

"So you really are his slave, then." It was a statement, not a question. "You really are lost to yourself."

"That's one way of putting it."

Her face had gone blank with this news. Curious as to what she was thinking, Murtagh tried to touch her mind, even to just glean some surface emotion; however, his mental probe only found a mental barrier as thick as ten dragon skins and as complex as a maze. Even for his new power, it was a fortification beyond his comprehension.

"Don't even try it, Murtagh. If you can no longer be my sanctuary, then my mind is all I can salvage. There is nothing left but to fight."

He scoffed.

"It was certainly never much for the people and country."

"Call me self-centered and selective, but no; they were secondary. I will do what I must, but Destiny is now driving me; I have nothing left to fight it."

"You know…I used to have nightmares that you had been seduced by the king. I feared it more than anything. Turns out: I should have been fearing for myself."

For a moment, she looked furious, but the conflict cleared and there was nothing in her eyes but understanding.

"_You_ were my strength, Murtagh."

That hurt. He hadn't felt strong at all ever since Galbatorix had gotten his claws on him. At the moment, he knew he had to walk away; otherwise, his oaths would force him to capture her.

"I disappointed you."

"I disappointed myself. Goodbye, Murtagh."

At that, he turned and walked away from the cold conversation. He wasn't sure how she had sensed his obligation to leave, but it had happened. Lenora was a new woman – hopefully a stronger one.

* * *

><p>"I remember when it was together till the end<br>Now I'm alone again  
>Where do I begin?<br>I cried a little bit  
>You died a little bit<br>Please say there's no regrets  
>And say you won't forget<br>But I'm not lost

I'm not gone  
>I haven't forgot<p>

These feelings I can't shake no more  
>These feelings are running out the door<br>I can feel it falling down  
>And I'm not coming back around."<p>

- Avril Lavigne

* * *

><p>Nora stood there shivering despite the heat. Seeing Murtagh like that had made her remember how close they had been. Even if what she was feeling wasn't love – and she didn't know what it was – he was and always had been her best friend in the world. She didn't know what drove her to this instinct, but she knew what she had to do now. The war was important to her, but her friends came first, as always. Fate could go die in a hole. She intended to make her own path.<p>

For a moment, she looked back towards the direction of the Lamvarden camp two miles off, then towards the tree-dotted area to the south. There was Surda, the eventual goal of Ajihad and his troops. But between here and there were miles of wilderness. No sign of civilization was around there but a few scattered farms and small villages. Yes, Catira and the others would miss her, but she needed to sort things out. She was too confused right now and needed to find herself again. After living with the elves, a new feeling had crept over her – a new power. It needed time.

* * *

><p>"When you're torn down, when you're messed up<br>Don't you give in, no don't you give up  
>When you're drowning, and you're fading<br>Always know that I'm always waiting  
>And I, I won't let you go<br>No, I won't let you go."

- Avril Lavigne


	26. The Middle Way

Thank you for all of your reviews, as always! Also, PLEASE vote on the poll on my profile! I really need help deciding.

The Middle Way

There was life everywhere – in the ground, in the sky, in the trees, in the air she was breathing. It never got old to sense all of the life around her. Would it all really be destroyed if Galbatorix took over? Could his plan really be that evil? Or was everyone exaggerating? Despite being the king's daughter and growing up in his court, Nora had never heard her father's complete plan. She had actually run away just before he was planning to bring her fully into his circle. She hadn't wanted it then, but it now would have made a difference for the Varden. Stupid child she had been.

After spending the night in the treehouse she had sung, Nora had taken off in the general direction of the Burning Plains. All she did was run, hunt for food with magic, and meditate. It gave her the time she needed to think. So far, she had managed to open herself up to a vast store of power that she hadn't known she possessed until now. Her mother had always told her that she had 'special' potential that she would one day be able to access in her time of need; now, she was beginning to understand.

The lights of the lives around her grew brighter and brighter, almost blinding her mental eye as she sank deeper into a meditative state. It was like sleep, but her mind was perfectly aware of everything around. Even the dream she had couldn't be considered exactly a dream, but rather a vision.

_She had been told to stay back. But she couldn't. She had to. She had no choice. She watched as Eragon struggled in his mental battle with Galbatorix, but she couldn't do anything except stand there and watch because the king had commanded her. She had no choice. 'Stay back,' he had said. 'You're my only hope for the future.'_

_But then, she looked down at the middle of the cold stone floor. Murtagh laid there, crumpled up and wounded. He had let himself be hurt so that Eragon could win. That much she had seen after entering the room. But she couldn't go to him either. He looked up. She wanted him to meet her eyes, to make any indication of whether he was all right…any reassurance. _

_He looked up, but it wasn't to look at Nora, who now pined for his love and cared for nothing more except to see him safe and free. Murtagh looked towards the pillar on the side of the room, where Nasuada had been chained to watch the spectacle. He looked at her with the same look he had given Nora just before she ran away from Uru'baen the first time and he had insisted that she leave without him – the same look he had given her when he and Eragon had rescued her from Gil'ead – the same look he had given her every time they fought together or sought each other's counsel or treated each other's wounds._

_Of course. He needed someone to protect. Lenora no longer needed that; she was strong and powerful enough. She had given up her freedom to protect _him_. He had someone else to look after now. That was why he had changed. Because of Nasuada. Not Nora. Not his betrothed – not his childhood friend – not the one who despaired because of him and gave up all hope in love and the war – not the one who gave up everything to be with him. No, he didn't think of her in the same way anymore – not with this budding affection for the Varden leader. This changed things._

_Galbatorix, laughing madly at being able to fight Eragon and Arya so easily, suddenly looked directly at Nora. The whites of his eyes were showing with rage upon realizing that his control over his daughter was dissipating as the core of her purpose in life shifted and shattered. _Determined to not be brought down without a fight, she summoned all her strength and sent a pulse of energy shooting towards the king, intent on either killing or maiming him. It dissipated befor_e it even reached its target._

"_You!" he snarled, smiling manically and reaching a bony hand out towards the princess. _

_For one brief second of panic, Lenora looked back at Murtagh, the one who had always been there to save her. For that second, he looked at her and she almost recognized that look in his eyes. Resigning to Fate, Lenora scowled back at her father and hissed, _

_"Atra ono deyja medh iet baen unin onr hjarta!" _May you die with my grief in your heart._  
><em>

_Then it came._

_Before she could even think of reacting, a fiery, tearing pain shot through her entire body. A horrible black flame seemed to engulf her. It felt as if her soul was torn out piece by piece. It felt as if her skin should have been burning. She couldn't scream; she couldn't breathe. She could only think of what a failure she was._

"No!" the woman cried, tears running down her face as she returned to consciousness and curled up protectively on her knees. Her body was still shaking from how real it had felt – every inch of her soul being ripped from her body – and Galbatorix's smile… "No, no, no… Please, no."

She couldn't lose Murtagh. She couldn't. She couldn't. Maybe she did love him. Maybe not. Maybe.

Suddenly, a shadow blocked the blazing sun as someone stood in front of her…multiple shadows. Nora looked up and froze. A pack of wolves had managed to sneak up on her and she was sitting nose-to-nose with the leader. She knew she could kill them with a single thought, but these wolves seemed somehow…special. Their life essences glowed brighter in her mind than any other creature on the surrounding plain.

"I die," she said, not really talking to anyone.

But a voice responded.

"**You live, Garmdautr."**

Nora shook her head in shock. These were the wolves that had captured her in Ellesmera!

"Who are you?" she asked aloud.

"**I am Gaho." **She (the lead wolf) then nodded to the male beside her. **"This Sakima and the rest of my family-pack. We will help you defeat the egg-breaker-and-pup-thief."**

"**Pup thief?"**

"**That is partially how we were forced to capture you. Alyana was taken. Now, we will travel with you to the egg-breaker-enemies' camp and find Wolfsister."**

"**Wolfsister is part of the Varden? Could it be…Angela?"**

Gaho cocked her shaggy head.

"**I do not know this name. Perhaps. Wolfsister has a number of names."**

"**How can you be so…human?"**

"**A gift from Wolfsister, which we will now use in the war. Wolves are being affected greatly by it – game being scared off and hunted to extinction by hungry traveling armies of men-with-metal-sticks, and supply caravans with food being guarded too heavily for wolves to attack. Our honor was being tarnished and we were becoming no better than the common coyote."**

Here, Sakima interrupted:

"**So, she decided to challenge the leader of most honored wolf pack in the land…and won."**

"**With that reputation, I have power to direct the other packs. They agreed to attack all supply trains on roads to the cities the egg-breaker-enemies want to destroy. War is kind to no one but the sky-flyers-with-bad-taste you call vultures."**

Nora couldn't believe it. Nature was helping this fight in its own way. Whoever 'Wolfsister' was, the Varden owed her a lot!

"**Will you come with me to the Varden?"**

"**As long as we have safe passage. We want to speak to Lady Nightstalker. We will help."**

* * *

><p>"Are you all right, sir?"<p>

Ajihad's eyes came back into focus from staring at the Varden encampment near the Burning Plains and he looked back at his second-in-command.

"I am fine, Eedom."

"I can guess two things that are troubling you: what the Lamvarden's reaction will be when they find out who you really are and what your daughter's reaction will be at finding you alive."

"You know me well, Eedom."

"You don't have to be nervous, Calath," quipped Rowena, bringing her horse alongside the others. Ajihad worried even more for her reaction. Once she found that he had lied about his name to the Lamvarden, her reaction might not be very…amicable. "As your supplies and morale officer, I'll be there when you report in. It was too bad to hear that Ajihad was killed at Farthen Dur. I would have loved to meet him. But I'm sure his daughter is just as good. Did you ever meet her, Calath?"

Ajihad stared straight ahead.

"I knew her very well. Nasuada had great potential when I last saw her."

Just then, an approaching figure became visible in the distance. Within a few seconds, it became clear that Catira was returning from informing the Varden of their approach. It took a surprisingly short time for her to actually reach them, as she had insisted on running the entire ten miles to get there rather than taking a horse…something about other elves seeing her. Upon hopping onto a horse in order to comfortably keep pace with the others, Catira finally offered a report in her own time, not at all out of breath or visibly tired…she was an elf, after all.

"News of our approach is spreading like wildfire among the Varden. They look forward to our arrival and wish for us to make camp and report to Nasuada as soon as possible."

Ajihad merely nodded and straightened his shoulders.

* * *

><p>Nasuada winced slightly as Farica changed the bandaging on her left arm. Her right arm was propped up on the chair as she rested her chin on her fist. The Trial of Long Knives had been painful, but it was worth it. The sleeveless purple gown she now wore boldly showed off the white gauze that bound her injured appendages. It would be fitting to show this upstart leader of the Lamvarden who was in charge from the very start. She didn't want any more power struggles than necessary.<p>

Just then, King Orrin entered the tent, looking incredibly confused and concerned.

"Nasuada…" Orrin seemed at a loss for words. "They're here."

Nasuada straightened in her seat and nodded to Farica for her to step away. Elva, meanwhile, sat in the shadows on her right side, always waiting and watching; she suddenly was sitting up straighter than normal.

Putting on a confident air, the Varden leader nodded to her second at the tent flap, Jormundur.

"Let them enter."

"Yes, Ma'am."

When the tent flap opened again, several figures came through. First was Catira, the elf healer that first announced their approach; next came a handsome young warrior with mossy brown hair and a plump, blond-haired woman in her mid forties; finally, directly between these two and slightly behind, came the leader. His skin was ebony and his eyes were of black steel. Ajihad.

Nasuada gasped in shock.

"Father!"

The man bowed his head, his eyes shining, but she just couldn't believe that he was really standing just ten feet away from her.

"It is I, Nasuada."

Jormundur stepped forward and asked,

"Sir, how did you escape?"

The plump woman who had arrived with Ajihad puffed up her chest like an angry hen and demanded in her own turn,

"You? All those midnight talks and you failed to mention that you're the legendary leader of the Varden?"

"We found your armor and your blood, so we assumed that the Urgals had dragged you off or, more recently, that the Twins had killed you."

"We had your _funeral_!" cried Nasuada, standing abruptly. "I thought you were dead!"

The strange young man chose that moment to try giving his piece, but Nasuada wasn't in the mood for it.

"Ma'am, I can explain…"

"I don't want to hear it! Everyone out except Elva and…Ajihad. Now!"

There was a scramble and, a mere few seconds later, the tent was empty of everyone except those three.

She didn't offer him a seat, nor did she run to his arms. Yes, she was of course overjoyed to see that her beloved father and mentor was alive and well; however, her heart ached to know that he hadn't had the heart to let her know that he was all right. And, now that he was here, would he take control of the Varden and erase everything she had worked towards? Her throbbing, swollen arms reminded her of what this leadership had put her through. As much right as Ajihad had to retake control, a part of her wouldn't be able to let go too willingly.

"Nasuada," he began, stepping forward again, but Nasuada put her hand up to stop him. Her eyes were steely and her jaw tense.

"Where were you? I needed you. The Varden needed you. Do you think they are just going to let you slip back into control after what I've done – moving them to Surda and winning the Battle of the Burning Plains? Do you realize what I've gone through? What happened?"

Ajihad's face was as neutral and considering as it ever was, but his eyes were tormented.

"I didn't know that those Urgals were going to attack and that the Twins would turn on me. I thought I was going to die until I saw Lenora in the distance staring me. I was struck by an Urgal blade and, before I knew it, I woke up in the care of Eedom, the young warrior who came in here with me. Lenora somehow transported me to the middle of the Hadarac Desert. I knew that you would all think that I was dead and I knew that it was too dangerous to risk showing myself. I didn't know what the Twins were up to or whether it would be worth the risk to everyone to try returning. They probably would have tried to have me killed again. I decided to take advantage of the situation."

"By lying?"

He shook his head.

"Look what I accomplished. The supply trains are panicking. And I've seen what _you _have managed to do. I wouldn't dream of taking that from you. I have the Lamvarden to command. And, if you will accept it, I would like the Lamvarden to become a part of the Varden…under your authority. Nasuada, all I can say is that I'm sorry for putting you through that."

Nasuada gasped. She hadn't wanted to give up leadership, but she couldn't even imagine giving orders to her father!

"I couldn't possibly…"

"But look at what you're doing, bossing around everyone here. You're the leader of the Varden now, but you're also my daughter. Can't you greet me as such?"

Relief spread through Nasuada as a terribly awkward and difficult situation was suddenly resolved. With that out of the way, she was nearly overcome with tears as she swiftly closed the gap between them and wrapped her arms around her father's neck.

"I thought I lost you," she gasped. "How can I be so selfish?"

"You've gone through too much for me to steal what you've built up. I'm here now."

"Don't ever do that to me again!"

"I promise, daughter."

* * *

><p>It was evening. The troops were gathered around crackling fires, eating their rations, singing battle songs, and exchanging tales of bravery, legends, and magic. The leaders (namely Nasuada, Orrin, Jormundur, Ajihad, Catira, Eedom, and the Urgal leader Garzhvog) had collected inside Nasuada's tent for supper at the long table that had been provided. Saphira was out somewhere hunting and Eragon and Arya had yet to return. The story of Ajihad's mysterious arrival had spread like wildfire in the camps; everyone was…amazed, to put it lightly.<p>

The conversation, after sorting out the confusion of whether Ajihad would take back his rule, was surprisingly pleasant for all. The Urgals were fascinated by meeting the legendary man and all others felt a ray of hope rekindled in their hearts; Ajihad was, after all, notorious for his strategies.

After a few hours of merriment, however, there was a significant disturbance outside, even a few screams and yells of alarm. Nasuada and her party all stood and reached for their weapons, waiting for the threat to reveal itself. Jormundur, Garzhvog, Ajihad, and Eedom went outside to investigate. A few seconds passed before they and three extra figures returned. Ajihad and Eedom looked at least fairly confident, but the other two were eyeing the newcomers cautiously.

"Nora!" Nasuada exclaimed. "What happened to you? Why do you now have wolf bodyguards?"

Nora straightened her shoulders and looked coolly back at the other woman – the look of an equal. She appeared travel-worn and dirty with her hair wildly blown about her shoulders, but she was as relaxed and ready as if she had just taken an evening stroll.

"I have a magical shield blocking anyone entering this area who intends to hurt the wolves here or inside. I'll release it when I know they are safe. They are my allies and they only wish to help the Varden. The original part of this pack, by some magic or miracle, has a special ability to think at least at the human level, speak with their minds, and who knows what else. They can communicate with all other packs and the female here has secured a place of leadership and respect among their numbers.

"The Empire has greatly affected their lives between hunting and being hunted; they want to help by attacking any supply trains going in and out of whatever towns you require. As for me, I either escaped or was released by the king and was found by the Lamvarden. I ran off because I…needed time to think."

"These wolves…they will not harm us?"

"It is no more likely than having these Urgals you have walking around attack."

That honestly wasn't the most comforting thing ever.

"Can I still trust you?"

Nora's stance relaxed a bit. First, she said something in the ancient language, then she translated:

"On my honor, I will not harm the Varden."

Nasuada was stunned when a female voice invaded her mental barrier:

**"Neither will we, Lady Nightstalker."**


	27. Answers

Thanks for the reviews, as always! I think there are about ten chapters left...a big secret is going to be revealed in a few chapters. ;)

Answers

"I can see there's so much to learn  
>It's all so close and yet so far<br>I see myself as people see me  
>Oh, I just know there's something bigger out there.<p>

I wanna know, can you show me?  
>I wanna know about these<br>strangers like me  
>Tell me more, please show me<br>Something's familiar about these strangers like me." – Phil Collins

Nora had told Nasuada everything she remembered of her captivity and escape/release, as well as her short recovery with the Lamvarden and her few days of wandering. There was nothing left to tell…at least, nothing that wasn't rather personal.

The two women and Elva sat at a fire in front of Nasuada's tent in silence, sipping mugs of potent jasmine tea. Finally, Nora decided to voice her worries. Despite Nasuada being her romantic competition in that dream, she didn't feel jealous or in love at the moment. She just needed a friend to talk to, a fellow youth and female.

"Have you ever…thought you were in love with someone, only to realize that, the whole time, maybe they were just your best friend?"

Nasuada flinched a little, as if bringing herself down out of a daydream.

"Nora, a true lover is also your best friend. You'll care for their wellbeing more than anything, even and especially your own life. Otherwise, why fall in love at all?"

"True. A best friend is more important than a simple lover. But what about when that friendship gets in the way of what everyone else wants and even the common good?"

Nasuada paused, obviously trying to find a way around this. The two ladies had found common ground in their cause, but they were nowhere near being on the road to friendship. This conversation was probably where that would both begin and end.

"It is good to know that you're on our side, Nora, and that you feel so strongly against Galbatorix." Nora could sense the 'but' coming along. "But…I can't trust you because of your loyalties. Not yet. You are obviously still attached to Murtagh and there's always a chance that your priorities might become…distorted. Before you object, hear me out. You seem a little conflicted over your emotions, and I can understand that. I know that you hate the king for what he has done, but that might not stop you from…"

The other woman frowned as Nasuada paused.

"From what?"

"From trying to save Murtagh."

Nora bit the inside of her cheek and tried to clear her mind of any emotion. She didn't want to assume anything and create animosity between herself and the Varden leader.

"I'm so conflicted right now that I don't know what I'm going to do or how I feel."

"Well, I think I know how _I _feel. Murtagh is a traitor to the Varden and I hate him for that, but I always felt a certain pull towards him and his love for freedom."

"Then you're just as conflicted as me."

"Now that you mention it, it is a little…conflicting."

"Thoughts concerning Murtagh are simple until you start thinking about them too much, aren't they?"

"I suppose so." Calm and cool. Finally, Nasuada seemed to decide to finally be less cryptic. "I'm sorry, Nora. I keep judging you for your attachments when I'm not even sure about mine…and you're _betrothed _to Murtagh! What is the confusion there? If you were planning on marrying him, won't your love overlook whatever he may have done?"

Nora shifted in her seat and reheated her tea with magic. She appreciated how understanding Nasuada was being. It was impressive that the leader of the Varden was actually trying to befriend and show compassion to the daughter of her enemy. She, however, remained silent as Nasuada continued.

"What keeps you going? For me, after I thought my father was dead and I was raised to leader of the Varden, it was my father's legacy and I had an obligation to protect the people of Alagaesia from the king. But Elva tells me that the people are of little consequence to you, at least consciously." Elva's bright eyes narrowed at Nasuada's statement. "What drives you to fight Galbatorix at all? You don't care about anyone out here. You care about Murtagh and your revenge against the king. You can do that from Uru'baen itself by just giving yourself up."

Nora laughed sourly.

"You sound like you're trying to convince me to run home and throw myself at my father's mercy. Murtagh and I _were _engaged…technically. But it was never our choice. Galbatorix made sure we were officially betrothed at a young age to ensure that his line would continue. That's why he released me, in hopes that I would return on my own. He and Morzan agreed soon after I was born that we would one day be married. We grew up together as a betrothed couple, but we never thought like that. We were friends.

"Each was the other's only support as we grew up. All the torture and fear we lived through would have been impossible to endure otherwise. So yes, he was my fiancé, but he was my best friend first…and he always will be. That's why things are so confusing for me. I'm not sure whether my desire to go back and try to save him is for our friendship, for our previously dictated relationship, or for the possibility that, deep down, I really do love him. Galbatorix may think that our engagement still exists, but that only exists in his mind. I don't know that I think that anymore.

"He's my friend. But do I really think of him (or did I ever think of him) as a more than that? I don't have an answer. And I may not care about the entire population, but I do care about Eragon, Saphira, Arya, Catira, Eedom, Angela, Ajihad, and even you. For me, my friends are all that matter. If it takes giving myself up to protect them from a fate worse than if I remained here, I'll do it. If I have to give myself up to keep Murtagh from suffering a fate worse than death, I'll do it. He's my best friend. And, whatever your feelings are toward him, it is _my _responsibility to help him."

Nasuada stared at the fire and sipped her cold tea. After all that, her face had gone blank and she only had two words to say:

"I see."

* * *

><p>"Have you met any of the villagers from Carvahall yet?"<p>

"I assume you're specifically thinking of Roran Stronghammer?"

Eedom laughed at Catira's guess but nodded his head anyway as he sharpened his sword outside his tent.

"You assume correctly. I was able to have a rather lengthy conversation with him after he returned the other day and… He has achieved so much in so little time! He brought his entire village all the way here, killed both of the twin magicians in battle with his hammer, saved his betrothed from the Ra'zac's lair, and has already gained the respect of the Varden. He has carved his own path into history."

"If you're worried about being outdone by an amateur, you need not fear."

"What are you talking about?" Eedom demanded, trying to keep his voice calm but actually feeling a little insulted.

Cat smiled.

"You have done so much, Eedom. And…" She stared him down with a secretive look. "…you're special in ways that you don't even know about yet."

Before the young man could react, the elf was standing and walking over to a group of small children playing in the dirt. He saw her bend down to talk one of them (a brown-haired girl of about nine with big sad eyes) and quietly say,

"Can you do me a small favor?"

"Anything, Lady Catira," the girl replied.

"Concentrate on that pebble on the ground there. Now, say 'reisa'." It took a few tries, but, sure enough, the pebble finally rose a few inches from the ground. Catira grinned from ear to ear. "What is your name, child?"

"Eva."

"And who are your parents?"

"Carlen and Marla. They're dead. Madame Rowena has been taking care of me."

"Well, Eva, I have a question for you. After we defeat Galbatorix, would you like to be my apprentice? Maybe Rowena would even let you do some traveling with me."

"Really?"

"Mm-hm. If you want, we can even ask her now."

"All right!"

After seeing that the others were gone, Eedom had an idea. He looked down at the whetting stone in his hand and frowned down at it. He doubted it. But maybe.

"Reisa."

Nothing happened. He sighed but tried a few more times, concentrating more at each try. A bead of sweat rolled down the side of his face as he sat there for what must have been fifteen minutes. Finally, he decided to attempt it one more time.

"Reisa."

The stone wobbled in his hand and suddenly shot to eye level. The shock of it actually working broke his focus and caused the object to drop to the ground with a dull thud. This was amazing! But it meant that the events of his dream – trying to help Eragon and heal Catira with magic – could possibly be true. What could this mean?

"I need a walk."

He hadn't noticed Yelivan approaching from helping in the Lamvarden kitchen tent.

* * *

><p>"So, it will happen," Yelivan whispered, walking across the small space between the Varden and Lamvarden camps and ignoring the slight disturbances of the men.<p>

The servant, ignoring these random mutterings about 'creatures', suddenly discovered the cause upon passing a large, low tent with the flap open. A large wolf was standing at the entrance, staring at the passer-by with glowing eyes. Yelivan stopped abruptly, only a few feet away from the animal.

"Gaho."

The wolf nodded towards the inside of the tent.

"**We need to talk."**

* * *

><p>Nora laughed as Angela handed the mug to her.<p>

"This is the second social cup of tea I've had in the past twelve hours. Does everyone suddenly need to find out what my position is in this war?"

The witch chuckled in turn.

"I don't _need _to know anything. I'm curious – very curious. It's in my nature."

"Actually, I wanted to talk you about that…my fortune. You said that I had two paths before me. But I don't have to make the choice you foretold. I don't have to face torment for making choices that are polar opposites. I can save Murtagh _and _Alagaesia. I don't have to give in completely to either side - the Varden and separation from Murtagh or Murtagh and the doom of the land. I can do both."

"Child, what do you mean?"

"Angela, I'm making a third choice, carving my own fate."

**Child, I wish you could. Even you don't know your own heart.**

Angela smiled, nonetheless.

"I'm proud of you, Nora. Just be careful of what your heart tells you when that time comes."

"But has that time already come? I was captured by Galbatorix and got away; now, I'm hoping to be accepted by the Varden and help them where I can."

Was this girl really that clueless?

"I heard you talked to Nasuada. Has she used the 'king's daughter trust' card yet?"

"She didn't really mention a doubt in my loyalty because of my parentage, but…we went into great depth concerning my desire to see Murtagh safe, no matter what he's done."

"Love is a strong draw."

"_Friendship_ is a strong draw." Angela leaned back in her lounge chair, not at all perturbed by the snap. "I never wanted this. A year ago, I would have seen nothing in my future except Murtagh and I running off somewhere and starting a farm or wandering into the sunset with no destination in sight. Unfortunately, I think, if we do ride off into the sunset, it will have to be on a dragon's back…and I'm not too fond of heights."

"Dear girl…you're wise. I know you'll make a decision that will benefit you, Murtagh, and all the people of Alagaesia."

"From the choices you've given me, I doubt that'll happen."

Angela grinned widely.

"Oh?"

"You said I had two choices. One led to a lover of great power and strength – a life of power, control, and slavery under the king with everyone fearing me. The other led to a life as a heroine to the people with gnawing regret and danger. How can that lead to benefits for everyone? If I do decide to join Murtagh and somehow realize that I'm in love with him, is there any hope?"

Angela pondered this.

"Everyone may be doomed, but there's always hope. Haven't things changed for you, though? Things that would make those fortunes a little more complicated than you first thought."

Nora bit her lip, clearly having something on her mind but trying to decide how to word it.

"I've been accepted by the elves, namely by my cousin and aunt. I have returned to practicing my magic and fighting skills and have found that I have…I can only explain it as a vast space of power and knowledge that I never had the courage or need to explore before. Just this morning before I came here, I was able to teleport a lamp a good ten feet without using any outside reserve strength or getting more than a little out of breath. It makes me wonder…about my mother. No one knows or will tell me about her power. It must have been enough to attract Galbatorix."

Angela took her time to answer as Solembum entered the tent and curled up in her lap. Absentmindedly scratching behind his ears, the witch looked at the bear fur rug on the ground.

"My memory is playing tricks on me, so I don't recall if I ever told you this, but… I knew your mother. I helped her contact the Varden a number of times over the years; I also helped her in organizing the escape of her friend Selena from Morzan's castle."

"What!" Nora exclaimed, her eyes bulging. "You helped Murtagh's mother?"

"I suppose so."

"That explains a few things. What of my mother? Can you tell me anything about her? Please, it would answer so many questions just to know a few things about the woman who raised me, but of whom I know nothing."

"Desperate, are we?"

The girl sighed, leaning on her knees.

"Incredibly."

"All in good time. First, I must ask: Since you've been accepted by the elves and as your mother was an elf from whom you inherited such great power, do you intend to use it _for _the elves?"

"I'm not going to be an elf. I'll use what I've learned and inherited, but I won't adopt the people completely. They are my family by blood, but my human heritage has taught me to not give my loyalty just for relation. Now, about my mother?"

The older woman paused again, not sure how to proceed.

"I'll make a deal with you, Nora. I'll tell you everything I know about your mother if you do me one favor." With that, she brought out an old leather journal from the depths of a bag nearby. "This book is enchanted to copy everything you say when you have a blank page open – no hassle with a pen! Put your thoughts and memories into this journal and then we'll talk, should the need arise."

"What do you mean by that?"

"Oh nothing!" Angela chirped. "Now, go away. I have work to do."

"Fine."

Shaking her head, Nora stood and left with the journal in hand. The witch thoughtfully stared at nothing, doing nothing. However, someone momentarily entered the tent.

"Nora, I thought agreed later."

"No, I think we need to talk now."

She turned around abruptly in her chair, her jaw dropping. That wasn't Nora.

"Well, this does change things."


	28. Reactions

Reactions

Eragon went through the movements of his exercises outside the Varden camp, testing out his new falchion from the weapon smith. He had healed Elva of her curse (not that she was at all grateful) and given his gifts of gold to repay debts. Ajihad had miraculously shown up with the elusive Lamvarden and Nora had arrived as well during his adventure at Helgrind; he had yet to see the latter.

Time became a blur with thought and the falchion swung smoothly with his movement, but it still wasn't Zar'roc. He needed a Rider's sword! But how? He knew that Rhunön, the elf blade smith, had made a vow to never create another of those precious weapons, but wasn't there a way around it? There obviously wasn't a way of getting Zar'roc back. Murtagh would be unlikely to just hand it over.

Since their encounter at the Battle of the Burning Fields, Eragon's perception of him had changed. Since finding out that Murtagh was his real brother, the brotherly feeling he had for the other Rider had faded greatly. The man had no thought of escape or freedom anymore – just serving his master. Did Nora know this? If not, she would be heartbroken. She had grown up with Murtagh as her best friend and companion. He had changed.

And Morzan was his father. Murtagh had turned out just like him. Would that somehow happen to Eragon? Was he anything like his father? Of course, as much as he worried about Nora, she was nothing like her sire. Despite her twisted loyalty and protectiveness for Murtagh, she was still kind and free-spirited; nothing would make her serve the king.

"Your heritage isn't your fault, even if it is true."

Eragon whirled around, still in fighting mode, upon hearing the voice and froze as he nearly decapitated the woman standing there. Nora didn't even flinch at having the blade touching her throat. In fact, there was something just generally different about her.

"Nora!" he exclaimed. "How did you know what I was thinking about?" His mental barriers were still up. "Did Murtagh or Galbatorix tell you?"

"They told me nothing. You were screaming your thoughts so loudly that I could hear them ten miles away."

Just then, Eragon noticed how tired Nora looked. From what he heard, she arrived over a day ago; she was wearing a black shirt, trousers, and boots with a deep green fitted jacket. He lowered his sword and closed the few feet between them to embrace the woman.

"Nora, I was so worried about you! What happened? Ajihad said that you ran off from the Lamvarden, but…" He couldn't find the words to express his amazement. Seeing his friend again was like a salve to the wound on his pride. But those thoughts forced him to be solemn again. "Murtagh…he…"

"I know," the girl calmly said, pulling away with a sad smile.

"I'm sorry, Nora."

The smile remained; so did the sad eyes.

"Don't worry about me, Eragon. I'm beginning to see what I have to do. But…I think I'm going to have a short life."

That worried Eragon. It made him think back to Angela's warning.

"_When you see her again (and you will see her again), Lenora is going to have some very difficult choices to make that could either secure or destroy your friendship. You may be the "Varden's only hope" and her dear friend, but Murtagh was her best friend and betrothed. Things like that don't just disappear for the wishing. She may not see it yet, but her loyalties are still linked to that boy. It's up to you to see that they don't cloud her judgment to the point that she makes a stupid decision."_

She had known about Murtagh being alive. He had just been too stupid to see it.

"Nora, he was your best friend. Don't tell me your doing just peachy."

Her eyes flashed dangerously.

"He still _is_ my best friend, Eragon. No forced oaths can change that; nothing will ever change that."

"I know," the boy responded worriedly. How could he keep this strong-willed, bull-headed woman from making some hair-brained decision? "Just, whatever you do, remember that I need your support here. Having the approval of the king's daughter will mean a lot to the rebellion."

"You always have my support." Then, obviously wanting to change the subject, Lenora shrugged her shoulders and sighed, "So…I heard that you managed to defeat _both _Ra'zac _and _rescue a damsel-in-distress…?"

"I had help. Roran was there."

"Good ol' Roran. Oh…it's so good to see you again, Eragon." She cleared her throat and awkwardly patted his arm. "You didn't…happen to bring my weapons with you, did you?"

"Yes! They're in my tent, if you don't mind."

"Not at all."

* * *

><p>Less than ten minutes later, Nora followed Eragon into his tent (the flap was tied open because of the heat outside) and stood waiting as the Rider bent down to retrieve a weighty bag from underneath his bed; but something else caught her eye when he handed it to her. Something else was under that cot: a black wooden case about four feet or so long.<p>

Making a mental note to bring that up, the girl sat down on the rickety stool at the side of the tent and began hiding her various daggers on her person. Eragon, however, spoke up before she had belted on her sword; her bow and quiver were still propped up again the tent wall.

"You once said you would tell me the stories behind your weapons. Almost all of them are unique, yet they all bear the same star-shaped mark."

Slowly, Nora began removing the daggers again, one by one.

The first two were from her boots; they had straight, narrow four-inch blades and simple black hilts with steel trim.

"These were my first hand-held weapons, given to me on my seventh birthday – the only gifts from my father that I ever kept close." Next, an even smaller knife, with the handle and crossbar merely being an extension of the blade's metal, appeared out of her right sleeve. He had missed her attaching a sheath for it to her forearm. "My combat trainer, Tornac, gave this to me when I was twelve as 'defense when all others faltered'. He knew that I, at the time, lost things easily." Two pen-like black blades then made their appearance from her thick hair.

"I received these when I was fourteen from a peddler in Uru'baen whose life I saved." She removed the dagger from her belt, which had a curved eight-inch blade and a black hilt with a silver vine pattern curling around it. "Murtagh gave this to me on the night I escaped. He said he would hate for me to get hurt when he wasn't there to protect me. My broadsword came from Eedom Stranson, at the time a soldier in Uru'baen, when I lost my other sword in a riot we were settling in the marketplace. The bow I simply acquired during my training. Concerning the pendant of the original star symbol, did anyone happen to find it? I noticed that it was missing a few days ago."

"No."

Nora nodded, but she was troubled. Her mother had given her that necklace and it had gone missing sometime between her capture and her leaving the Lamvarden. Most likely, it had been taken during her captivity.

"I put the star mark on all of my weapons as sort of a good luck charm to ensure that they always find their way into my hands if I lose them. My pendant was given to me by my mother when I was quite young. She said it would always find me, which I originally took as a way to keep from losing it."

"Yet Murtagh was wearing it when he just happened to find you in Gil'ead. Perhaps it's enchanted not to _be _found, but to _find_ you when it's separated from you. If your mother gave it to you, maybe it was to keep you safe."

Nora shivered with sudden fear. If she lost it in Uru'baen…

"Then who has it now? What if Galbatorix has figured out how it works? He can find me."

"Maybe Murtagh has it again…but that would be just as bad." As he threw the weapon sack back under his cot, Eragon seemed to have a sudden epiphany. He grabbed the strange wooden box and dragged it into full view. "If Murtagh does have your necklace, maybe it's fair that you should have something of his."

Nora cocked her head in curiosity.

"What is it?"

"As you saw, Zar'roc is gone, taken by Murtagh in the battle. But he left something behind that I don't feel I have the right to use." With great respect, he lifted the lid and pulled out a familiar hand-and-a-half sword. "You're his best friend and you were his fiancé. You are the only one fit to carry it."

Lenora gasped, examining the weapon with utmost care and affection.

"Such a weapon… It's a little long for me to carry it at my waist, so I'll just have to have a back holster made. It's…so magnificent. How could he abandon this?"

"He's changed," the boy said, pain evident in his voice. "You…really care about him, don't you?"

"Of course I do!" she exclaimed, still fingering the blade.

"No. I mean…you _really _care about him."

Nora glanced up and looked back down resolutely.

"I don't know what I feel, Eragon."

"Well, I do. And don't anything stupid about it. I have enough messes of my own to clean up."

"Glad someone has it down."

_"I missed you, Murtagh. How was Tornac when you last saw him?"_

_"He was killed when I escaped."_

_"Aside from him, you were alone."_

_"I had the good ol' slavedriver whispering sweet horrors into my ear about his dream Empire and your old friend chasing me around."_

_"Then you were alone. But no longer. Murtagh, I've told you this before, but now I mean it: I'll stand by you no matter what. Remember that."_

_SSSSS  
><em>

_With her leather boots noiselessly slipping across the fuzzy floor, Nora knelt down beside the bed, unblinkingly staring at him. Though she paused a couple of times, she leaned against the mattress, her face inches from his, and reached her hand out. She then proceeded to run her fingers gently through his dark, shaggy hair. He didn't move. It would have concerned her normally, but his breathing was regular, so perhaps he was just feeling…secure._

_Suddenly realizing how much she enjoyed the sensation of his hair between her fingers, Nora smiled to herself and kept combing away in the warm darkness. No one could know. Most of the time, she didn't even allow herself to believe it. He was the only person she had ever truly trusted and the only person she had ever…_

_However much she turned his mild advancements down, it pained her. By the stars, how it pained her! For years, they had faced this choice. It was obvious, but agonizing. In truth, all she wanted was to stand by his side for eternity. She had always felt sorry for Murtagh during their childhood, and he for her. But that pity had been accompanied by friendship – and that grew to something more. But she could never tell him. Not now. Not yet._

Suddenly, Eragon's face lit up.

"I have an idea! I've always found that, when I need to clear my head, I can just ride Saphira for a while; problems just seem to resolve themselves when you're up there."

Nora's face went pink and she clutched the sword handle a little tighter.

"Ride? As in…flying…in the air…up in the sky?"

"That's the idea. Why? Are you afraid of flying?"

"No!" she scowled defensively. "I'm just...I prefer to have my feet close to the ground."

"It's settled! Tomorrow, you ride Saphira. She thinks it's a brilliant idea."

"Of course she does…"

* * *

><p>"Murtagh, pay attention!"<p>

The young man quickly put his hand to his side, halting his fingers from fiddling with the star pendant on his neck. It had been tingling more than ever; and, every day, he thought of its owner. He didn't know whether to still consider her his best friend and ally or his enemy. Their past linked them as potential lovers; the future seemed ever more clear in making them mortal enemies. She had chosen her path with the Varden – he had heard reports of her arrival in their camp. She already made it apparent that he was no longer a priority.

"Yes, Majesty."

Galbatorix growled at his servant's distraction.

"I was _saying_ that the soldiers are already on the march and well on their way to reaching the Burning Plains. You are to meet them in two days' time."

"As you command."

* * *

><p>Eedom scowled up at a grinning Lenora as he cleaned his boots in the shade of his tent. Since the night before, he had been irritable, hot, and restless. Since moving the Varden camp further down the Jiet River, away from the carnage, they had done nothing – no fighting, no traveling, and little planning, of which he was privy to none. Not only that, but their only source of clean water was a drizzling little river two miles further south, consequently forcing a small shift of people to constantly fetch water for drinking, bathing, and cleaning wounds. None of the magicians had yet had the time to do anything to resolve that problem – idiots.<p>

"What are you doing here?"

"Avoiding Eragon's offer of a ride on Saphira," the girl replied, still smiling dumbly. "Would you like to help me fix the water system?"

Eedom scrubbed at a speck of dirt on his shoe a little more viciously.

"How? By strangling the magicians until they drop everything else they're doing?"

"You and I don't need the other magicians, Eedom." He paused. "I saw you use magic last night after supper. You summoned that pebble to you when you thought no one was looking."

"Just a pebble."

"Life much simpler when you think of everything as a pebble. Come with me and we'll see about making a trench worthy of pride."

Stuffing his foot into the half-cleaned boot, he followed Nora out of the camp and managed to ignore every single sideways glance from the female residents. His way of dealing with the broiling weather – loose brown pants and a completely unbuttoned dirty white shirt and brown vest – had received mixed opinions on their part.

He didn't speak again until after they were well away from the camp and walking side-by-side into the plains.

"So, Princess, remind me why you ran off from the Lamvarden after we saved your life, only to meet up right here?"

"I've told everyone…I needed time to think."

"Oh come on! Even you're not selfish enough to run off just to 'think'. What was really going? What did the king and Murtagh do to you when you were captured?"

Nora simply chuckled and started running ahead.

"Come on, soldier. Let's see what you're made of."

* * *

><p>"Ow!" Eedom howled, tripping into the stream. "How do you manage to do that? You're distracted!"<p>

"No, you're distracted," the princess chirped, twirling her new hand-and-a-half blade. "I've been here jabbering away, testing out a new sword, and you let yourself get swept into my words."

"But you're not supposed to do that in combat!"

Nora sighed.

"In a duel, does the enemy do what they're 'supposed to do'? No. They talk to distract you. Now, tell me what happened to you?"

"When?" the man grumbled, flourishing the broadsword in his hand, which now seemed insignificant compared to the great weapon the princess held.

"After you left with your troop. I heard something about an illness."

"We were going to Teirm to settle some sort of uprising (I don't remember what) – ow! That hurt! – and everyone just suddenly fell ill. We were in the middle of nowhere, with just enough rations for our journey, few medical supplies, and no magician to help, so they just started dying, one by one. First, there would be a fever, then rashes all over the body, chills, dehydration, weakness, delusions, tremors, seizures, and death. Somehow, I only had the fever and weakness before starting to improve. I buried all of my men, but I knew that it seemed suspicious that I was the only one alive. Rather than being tried and hanged, I went home."

He blocked a particularly vicious attack from Nora's magically guarded sword just in time.

"But there was nothing for you to go back to."

"No. My parents had died and all my friends were gone or estranged. With Duchess by my side, there was nothing but the life of a wandering man…and I had no intention at the time to join the Varden."

"Speaking of Duchess, where is she?"

"Not sure. She seemed to have taken a liking to my servant Yelivan."

"You have a servant? And that's a rather strange name – Yelivan."

"Long story. Woah."

Nora had rather surprised him, lunging forward towards his throat with her blade before dancing around to cut at the back of his leg. He whirled around to knock her away too late. But she hadn't reached her target. Somehow, she was suddenly splashing into the stream ten feet away. Eedom was confused, not sure what he had done; the soaked Lenora was grinning again.

"Stranson, you could use magic like an elf master and you don't even know it! Do you realize that you just threw me without even knowing the Ancient word? This is amazing!"


	29. My Religion, My Love

Drowned College Student Reporting! Like I just said, college has consumed my life. Luckily, I have not completely forgotten about fanfiction. I apologize for both not updating and not reading stories for the past who-knows-how-long. A slight case of writer's block hasn't helped, either. I can't promise that it'll improve any time soon, but here you go, for now. Again, this is more of a filler chapter than anything, but it's building up to some pretty big surprises. ;)

Merry Christmas!

My Religion, My Love

Nora yawned widely, covering her mouth with the back of her hand as she stared at the roof of the tiny tent. No privileges for the princess – and she preferred it that way.

Today was a day of rejoicing. The warrior part of her suggested an early morning run or perhaps even the Rimgar exercises taught to her by Catira Ryshal, the whereabouts of whom she had no idea. Her efforts to dig a water ditch with Eedom to supply the Varden with ready fresh water had been perfectly successful. With the help of magic, they had created branches for the creek water to travel down and serve each part of the Varden – the Urgals, the Dwarves, the Carvahall villagers, Surdans, and all the others. It would help ease the preparations of Roran and Katrina's wedding.

Speaking of the wedding, what would she give the couple? True, they probably felt like they barely knew her, the warrior daughter of the Imperial tyrant, but she had been a member of their village for two years. Katrina had enjoyed her company and Roran had respected her…while they thought she was a simple chicken farmer in her forties. What to do?

She donned a soft purple, V-neck tunic over grey leggings and petite black shoes in place of her usual boots, along with her fine black belt with its dagger. She ran her fingers through her curly black hair to eliminate the frizzes and then left it to its own devices. After these quick preparations and splashing her face with cold water, the girl walked slowly towards the area chosen for the wedding, a green field with a small hill. Maybe getting a visual of the scene would give her an epiphany for a gift.

* * *

><p>"What is she doing there?" Felda suddenly asked Eragon, breaking through the comfortable chatter into which the six women had finally allowed him as they kneaded the bread dough. "She's just been standing there for the past hour on the ceremony hill, staring at nothing."<p>

Eragon looked curiously up at the hill where Roran and Katrina's wedding would take place. Sure enough, Lenora was standing there just as Felda had said.

"I'm not sure."

"Well, whatever she's doing, she seems to turn everything to ice."

"She's a odd one. I'll give you that. She's a princess, but she grew up alone. Her only friend in the world was Murtagh, and it seems she even came to love him. Now, he's the enemy; she has to come to terms with that. …or we're all going to be in a bit of trouble," he finished under his breath.

* * *

><p>Eedom felt a little resentment, followed by instant guilt, as he polished his own shoes himself. Yelivan had been gone all last night and that morning (along with his sword), despite having volunteered to do this tedious work. Honestly, he only wanted to shine his shabby boots to at least look half presentable. It wasn't every day he attended a wedding. Partially, he wanted to put in some extra effort to impress Catira…but no one needed to know that.<p>

Suddenly, the scruffy hound laying at his feet bounded up with a whine and raced out of the tent.

"Duchess?" He quickly stuffed his foot into the half-polished shoe and stood up from his cot. When silence answered him, he put a hand on the hilt of his dagger. "Catira?"

A few seconds later, Yelivan entered, a smiling Duchess at his heels. Quickly handing over the broadsword, which had never looked shinier or newer during Eedom's time of owning it, the boy stepped back with a slight, regal inclination of the head. There was something different about his eyes. They were no longer adoring and humble, but proud and…old.

"I'm sorry, Eedom Stranson," he said quietly, "but I must presently terminate my service to you. You are proving to be a kind man and a strong warrior, but this Varden needs…something more. You have great things ahead of you, son of Virelay, daughter of Evanti, sister of Evandar. If you could see what you really are…so much."

Without another word, the tall, skinny peasant boy turned and left.

"Son…daughter of…sister of _who_?"

* * *

><p>Nora watched Eragon suddenly bolt away from the bread table, mount Saphira, and head back toward the main Varden camp.<p>

"**What's happening?"** she called to him.

"**Soldiers."**

And he was gone, the dragon bouncing among the distant tents. Nora was quick to follow suit in racing towards her tent where her sword lay. When she reached it a few minutes later, however, she froze. Her mind felt numb as her thoughts centered on one paralyzing fear. How could she resolve this? How could she get it out? She couldn't talk to anyone.

That was when her eyes found the journal sitting on her bedside table – the magical journal given to her by Angela. Could it really help? She wasn't any good to anyone right now, so why not? She picked up the book, sat down on the bed with her sword beside her, and opened it to the first page. Here goes nothing.

"The soldiers are coming." An invisible pen scrawled her words across the page in an elegant font, like her best cursive. "The problem is: now that I'm more confused than ever…what if Murtagh is there? What if I'm fighting and I see him hovering there? I'll stop everything. I know. The Varden will think me a traitor; I haven't earned their trust enough for them to understand what I go through.

"I'm finding myself powerful, though…so powerful, I could possibly even overwhelm Murtagh and Thorn without the elves' help and bring him to the justice of the people. But, if I did that, he would never forgive me. His oaths would make him bitter and uncontrollable and the Varden would have to kill him. I couldn't bear that. So, am I left with just staying out of the fight? Am I any good to anyone here at the Varden? I want to be; I really do. I just have…loyalty issues. Am I going to this? It has to be soon."

For a moment, Nora sat in silence with the book sitting limply in her hands. It was resolved. She couldn't fight against Murtagh. But she couldn't risk letting the Varden down in the middle of a fight.

"I'm leaving. Soon."

She strapped on her sword and cloak to her back, but left behind the scraps of armor she had salvaged, and ran outside.

* * *

><p>Nasuada's steed shifted restlessly as it sensed its mistress' agitation. Where was Nora? Everyone of importance was on the battlefield but her. Why did she abandon the fight now? Did she find the small numbers of the enemy too pitiful to bother with before she could realize how they were slaughtering the Varden?<p>

Suddenly, Angela was standing beside her.

"Good grief," the witch cried. "What is Lenora doing way over there?"

Sure enough, looking out over the battlefield on a distant hill was Nora. She wore no armor; her dark hair was tangling around her face in the wind and a deep purple cloak was billowing behind her.

Nasuada gaze turned stormy upon seeing one the Varden's potential hopes sitting there doing nothing. She paused the conversation, however, when a blood red shadow appeared on the horizon. There was only one shadow like that.

"Unless she's cooking up some fabulous magic up there, she's going to get a stern talking-to later."

"If she plans on being here at all."

The Varden leader tore her eyes away from Murtagh and his dragon to stare down at the top of the woman's curly head.

"What do you mean? I've talked with her. She hates the king and everything he stands for. Why would she go back to him?"

"My dear Nasuada, are you really that blind? Just because she hates the king and would rather die than return to his castle doesn't mean she won't go back there…or even just run away from everything." Because Angela was still watching the battle, Nasuada was unable to see her expression. "Are you really blinded enough to not see that her loyalties have and always will belong to Murtagh. No matter what he's done, she still sees good in him…just as I suppose you do."

"You know nothing," the girl snapped before she could stop herself. "I just feel bad for him; that's all."

"She may not yet realize it herself, but there is only one place for Nora to go, only one place where she feels she belongs and doesn't have to always be this mysterious, strong queen of the night. She lost her mother, despises her father, is surrounded by people who don't understand her… Think on this: Who is the only person who has ever made her feel safe? Who is the only person who understands what it is like to be seen as what she is not? The people here don't trust her yet and they won't have time to try because she's seen how they look at her. You may not see it, but she is more suited to wandering pointlessly in the wilderness rather than…"

Nasuada held her hand up to stop her companion. Icy horror gripped her heart as Saphira and Thorn collided over and over again, grappling against each other to gain the advantage. Yet Nora still remained immovable.

* * *

><p>Angela cocked her head with interest at the battle. She was armed and prepared to go into the fray if these peculiar soldiers proved themselves more of a challenge, but the side show was even more fascinating. Eragon finally seemed to be gaining the advantage, with the help of the elves. Murtagh was backing down and retreating; but Eragon was not pursuing. Instead, the boy was staggering about, unable to hold his own weight.<p>

Murtagh, meanwhile, directed Thorn back into the air, towards Nora.

"No!" Nasuada growled. "Soldiers!"

"Don't. You'll only send them to their deaths."

"The Red Rider is about to either capture or kill one of our greatest potential allies in hopes of easing his failure in taking Eragon. Do you expect me to let him do that?"

"You say 'potential' ally, Nasuada," Angela said stoically. "Believe it or not, but Lenora still has a choice to make."

"But she can't…"

"Can't?"

Nasuada bit her lip.

"You can only trust that she knows what she's doing. It is not as if you can actually bend her will to your own," someone else said.

Nasuada turned to look at the newcomer. She recognized him as Yelivan, Eedom's Lamvarden servant.

"You shouldn't be here, Yelivan. This is a place for _soldiers_. Go back and polish your master's boots," the woman snapped.

"Master he is not and never was. I am the servant of no man," the lad said lowly with narrowed eyes. Angela just stared at him with a strange smile. "It seems your _soldiers _need a little help."

A howl suddenly resounded from near the Varden camp. Somehow, out of distance, a swarm of about a hundred wolves were racing towards the battle. They ran so fast that, within a few moments of their appearance, they were in the thick of the battle, tearing at Imperial throats while leaving the Varden untouched.

"What? How…?"

One by one, the maniacal laughing was beginning to lessen. She looked bewildered at Yelivan, who shrugged with a mischievous smirk.

"Magic, my lady. That's how."

* * *

><p>Nora closed her eyes. The beating of wings resounded behind her and slowed to a gradual stop.<p>

"Why don't you run?" a spiteful voice demanded.

"I'm deciding."

"Deciding. What?"

"Whether to think with my head or my heart."

"Either one seems to get us in trouble."

Abruptly, the girl whirled around to face the shadowy, dragon-riding figure. She couldn't contain herself anymore.

"I loved you! Things were going so well. And you left me! I was alone again! If not for the slim-chance occurrence of being accepted into Arya's family and befriending Eragon, I would have been alone all this time with no one to talk to, and no one to care. I didn't know what to think. Maybe I decided that I didn't love you to protect myself; maybe I otherwise wouldn't have been able to live. Murtagh, I still don't know. What I do know is that you were the only true friend I ever had in my life. You were the only one who ever understood. We needed each other as children and we need each other now.

"At this point, I don't care if I'm in Galbatorix's hands. The only way we'll ever be able to escape this is together. The Varden will kill me anyways. I know. I'm the king's only blood relative and, as long as they think there's even the slightest chance of me claiming the throne, I'm a threat. If I stay here, the Varden will kill me, eventually; if I go with you, my father will torture me and force me to swear loyalty to him…but I will find a way to defy and destroy him."

Murtagh stared down at her stoically, no emotion showing in those dark eyes. Finally, however, he responded with a voice of ice:

"Don't bother."

"Why don't you just take me now?"

"Eragon defeated me…and those _wolves _have made it so the army won't distract the Varden for much longer. I couldn't risk capturing you without being captured myself."

"All you have to do is snatch me up and fly away."

"Are you mad? Do you _want_ to be in your father's hands?"

"I want to be in…" She cut off her quick retort, her cheeks turning scarlet at the context. "I want to be with you."

"Next time, I won't be able to be so kind."

With a snort, Murtagh wheeled Thorn around and flew off into the horizon without another look back. Ignoring the pang of regret in her heart, Nora ran down the hillside towards the battlefield where Saphira, the elves, and Nasuada were crowding. Her heart was pounding with worry for her friend as he lay prone on the ground, but she knew he was all right; he had defeated Murtagh, so he had to be all right.

"Lenora, what happened over there?" Nasuada scolded as Nora knelt down beside Eragon, panting from the run. "The elves were keeping Eragon from killing himself, so we couldn't do anything when Murtagh landed next to you. Why didn't you take him? You're strong enough, surely."

"She couldn't," Eragon groaned, his eyes fluttering wearily open. The woman continued,

"Or you could have just gone with him. Then it would have at least been clear whose side you're on."

Lenora closed her eyes as her mind reeled and whispered,

"It will be clear before the end of all this. The only thing I truly can care about in this bloody war is Murtagh's safety."

"Do you think you're the only one who cares?"

The girl glared at Eragon.

"He's not getting away with this."

* * *

><p>Roran finally found Nora at the edge of the wedding party. It had been a magical ceremony…not only because he was marrying the love of his life, but because of the unexplained golden sparks snowing from thin air and coins simply appearing on the tables.<p>

"Nora, I've asking all the magicians I could find, but none of them did it…"

"Did what?" she blankly responded. Roran was actually a little taken aback by her perfect bluff.

"Golden sparks raining down over the field and bouncing off the ground like raindrops; coins coming out of nowhere and landing on the tables. Where did they come from?"

"The coins were pickpocketed from the Imperial soldiers from the battle and the sparks were just an illusion made from flecks of water and sunlight," she rattled off before stopping herself. "I'm leaving and no one can stop me."

The wedded man laughed quietly.

"I went into the Ra'zac's lair to save the woman I love. I won't be the one to try to stop you."

"Nasuada will. Eragon will."

"You'll convince them. You seem to be the type that doesn't take no for an answer."

"You're right about that." She paused for moment before taking a step forward to embrace Roran. "Never let her go, Roran. Never let her lose you. Being separated from the one you love…you'll never forgive yourself. I have realized that."

"So, you're leaving?"

"I _have _to. If I can't save him, then, for me, this war is worth nothing."

"Does defeating the king fit into this?"

For a second, Lenora seemed to get distracted by the lively music now being played by the villagers.

"Of course. By the time I'm through, the king will be dead."

* * *

><p>Catira couldn't help but tap her foot to the exciting jig. Her elvish instincts told her that the music was illogical and erratic compared to the tunes of her homeland, but her fascination with human culture had made her accustomed to their chaotic ways. She found this music…thrilling.<p>

"May I have this dance?" She turned to the familiar voice and found Eedom standing, his eyes dancing with admiration. "You look lovely."

Cat almost blushed like a human schoolgirl as she thought of her simple elvish gray leggings and green tunic. Still, she was flattered by the human and awarded him with a coy glance and her hand.

"You may."

* * *

><p>"Lenora, I need to talk to you."<p>

"Can't stop me, Angie," chuckled Nora as she turned to hand the journal to her friend; however, she promptly went back to packing her bag.

"Lenora…when I told you that the rest of your fortune was unreadable, I lied. I was bound by a promise not to reveal it to you—soon, however, you'll find out about it."

"You…withheld my fortune? Hm."

"Your mother made me promise."

The sifting of belongings instantly stopped.

"_Excuse me?_"

...I just realized that chapter had quite a few choppy scenes. My apologies. The next one will be better.


	30. Dark Side

Dark Side

"_Master…I have a question."_

"_Another one?" After an awkward pause, Oromis' expression softened. "I'm sorry, Eragon, please continue."_

"_Why exactly happened to Nora's mother and why is she so determined to get back to Murtagh? Ah, never mind about Murtagh. I know why. But what happened to Ivanyel? What really happened?"_

"_Ivanyel and Islanzadi weren't very close while growing up…or, they were in some ways. There were days when, even after they were four hundred years old, they acted like children; most of the time, however, Islanzadi treated her sister like a disobedient invalid. When Ivanyel returned from scouting the Spine and met this mysterious man, I insisted that it was Galbatorix, but Ivanyel wouldn't believe it…and she wouldn't speak to her sister about at all." _

_I don't know why or how Galbatorix was able to trick her into actually falling in love with him, but it happened. She had left for the Spine in a rage that the insane Dragon Rider hadn't been caught after those murders. By the time she returned, it was as if it had never happened. Her attitude was even more disturbing since she had known one of the murdered Riders. I never understood that. Finally, she just left. No trace. Years later, Brom sent us a message: Ivanyel was the Empire's queen. Nothing more."_

"_So my father was the one who told you about Nora's mother."_

"_Indeed."_

* * *

><p>Nora turned her head slightly upon hearing Eragon's boots crunching on the dirt behind her. He knew it wasn't a coincidence that her tent was the closest in the camp to Dras Leona, especially since the Red Dragon was lounging above its gates.<p>

"How long has it been since I decided to go back to Uru'baen and throw my lot in with Murtagh, Eragon? How much longer can I put this off?"

Honestly, the Rider wasn't quite sure…probably several weeks. It was around the time of Roran and Katrina's wedding that Lenora had determined to leave the Varden, claiming that no one would stop her. With a few minor exceptions, no one tried; however, she had stayed with the campaign and fought just as fiercely as any of them, including in the fight for Gil'ead. Having the king's daughter show so much zeal for their cause was admittedly becoming quite the morale booster for the human troops. The dwarfs, elves, and Urgals had taken a little longer in getting used to her presence in all of the battles and meetings.

Actually, even stranger things had happened: an army of Werecats had joined the Varden, along with wolves of unknown number. Both of these creatures could be found wandering around the camp occasionally or lounging near the lookouts. Most people were too tired or focused to care.

"Why didn't you leave, Nora? You were so determined to go after Murtagh before…then you just suddenly stopped talking about it."

"I've had a lot of time to think, Eragon, when I'm not fighting. With you and Saphira running off for Orik's coronation and more training with Oromis (before he…died), I didn't have as much to keep track of." He wasn't sure what she was getting at, but the tenseness of her jaw as she stared at the city walls told him to listen. "Angela told me, soon after my decision to leave, that she had promised my mother something…and she had withheld part of my fortune. My mother is dead."

"And?"

"She said before that I could choose a path that would mean my enslavement and the destruction of the people, going back to Galbatorix to be with Murtagh, or I could break my own heart and become a hero by fighting with the Varden and forgetting my feelings. I missed my opportunity with the former a while ago, before Murtagh wouldn't try taking me. I refuse the latter because I cannot ignore my heart, no matter what the stakes are. What she left out is that I could follow both my heart and my head, which would include going to the king _and _becoming at least a bit of a hero."

Eragon contained the agitation and excitement he felt, but he didn't want to get his hopes up.

"Why do you hesitate? By your tone, you know what to do. Do you know how to kill the king? Nora, if you know a way, you have to tell me. The fate of the world depends on that one goal!"

"Do you think I don't know that, _boy_?" she spat, glancing sideways. "She didn't know details, she just knows where I'll be. She saw a vision and…she shared it with me. Actually, it's something I've seen before."

"What?"

With his indicated permission, she touched her fingertips to his forehead and closed her eyes. Eragon was immediately swept into her mind, where the scene filled with darkness and pain.

_The king was nearby; she could feel his raging presence without looking. Eragon _(it was strange looking at himself through another person's eyes) _was some feet away, exhausting and bleeding, but still standing. Murtagh was on the floor, apparently defeated._

_Murtagh looked at the other woman, the woman she came close to calling a friend, the woman who had stolen his affections with pity, Nasuada the leader of the Varden. He used to look at Nora like that, with those sad dark eyes full of love and concern. No one could be afraid with him looking like that.  
><em>

_But Nora was not the one he was looking at, so she was afraid. She had fought for life and liberty to be with him. For _their_ freedom. She couldn't force that to continue when he obviously found someone else._

_Determined to not be brought down without a fight, she summoned all her strength and sent a pulse of energy shooting towards the king, intent on either killing or maiming him. It dissipated before it even reached its target.  
><em>

"_You!" he snarled, smiling manically and reaching a bony hand out towards the princess.  
><em>

_For one brief second of panic, Lenora looked back at Murtagh, the one who had always been there to save her. For that second, he looked at her with familiar emotion. But it wasn't the same. Resigning to Fate, Lenora scowled back at her father and hissed,  
><em>

_"Atra ono deyja medh iet baen unin onr hjarta!" _May you die with my grief in your heart._  
><em>

_Then it came.  
><em>

_Fire ripped through her being. She was dying in the inferno of her father's hate. She could feel his mind slowly crushing hers. She could only hope that it gave the others time to act. Her mouth opened in a silent scream.  
><em>

_Soft echoes through time and space whispered, "The king is dead."_

Stunned, Eragon took a step back as Nora released him.

"Was that…? Are you going to…?" He couldn't seem to finish a sentence. Meanwhile, Nora's stony eyes began to shine, as if on the verge of tears._  
><em>

"I'll do what's necessary. That's all you need to know. You will succeed in killing the king….Dragon Rider."

Eragon stared at the woman for a long time. It was nice to think that he would make it to the end of this mission to save the world, but he couldn't get excited with that frightening scowl on his friend's face.

"When are you leaving?"

"Tonight. I don't want anyone to know right away. I think it would be a little traumatizing for the Varden soldiers to see the king's daughter being scooped up by the Red Rider right in front of their eyes."

She seemed to tremble a little as she continued looking up at Thorn on the city wall; Eragon put a comforting arm on her shoulder that seemed to calm her a bit.

"What is the princess thinking?"

"I haven't really changed at all. I may say that I would give my life for all the people of this land to free them from tyranny; however, in reality, I still fight for Murtagh alone. All I want is our freedom and the only way to attain that goal is by killing the king.

"Eragon…could you do me one favor before I do leave?"

"Anything," he said quietly, pressing his lips to the top of her head as if she were his own sister. At this point, he did think of her as almost his sister.

He didn't realize that the ruby dragon was watching.

* * *

><p>"<strong>Murtagh!" <strong>Thorn called out it alarm.

The young man looked over his shoulder from preparing the city for its defense against the Varden outside. It didn't feel like the type of emergency that equaled the Varden storming their gates, so he remained calm.

"**What is it, Thorn?"**

"**I have been watching the Rider of the great-blue-majestic-dragon and the girl-that-you-hate-but-love-and-always-think-about. The male just put his lips to her head."**

"**Eragon kissed Nora?" Idle interest flared to jealousy.**

"**On the head. What is it, Murtagh? You seem…agitated."**

Breathing heavily and tensing his jaw, Murtagh just stood there for a moment.

"**What else?"**

"**He has his arm on her shoulder and she is leaning against him."**

Had she given up on him? Had she finally resigned herself to his fate as he had, long ago?

"**Very well."**

"**What are you going to do?"**

"**Wait for an opportunity and follow my orders. Why should I keep stalling and putting us through more torture when she doesn't even care?"**

"**Are you being…rash? She **_**offered**_** herself to us before."**

"**Minds and hearts change quickly when you let down your guard. She used to need me. Now that she has her great Varden leader to talk to, why would she need the murdering slave of the king? Next time, no mercy. We're taking her to the king."**_  
><em>

* * *

><p>"What do you suppose he is thinking right now?" Eedom asked casually, strolling up to where Catira was examining the city walls from afar. "We've been having victory after victory. The king wouldn't send the Red Rider unless he needed a lot of extra power."<p>

"That's what worries me. Dras-Leona is practically impregnable. Even with Saphira, they have enough supplies, armaments, and magicians to last them a while. Why is Thorn just sitting there? What are they up to?"

"Don't know."

"Your magic abilities have been growing. Can't you sense it? Something's not right. They're here for a greater purpose than protecting one of their most fortified cities. I just don't know what."

"Jeod is working on a way to get in and open the gates. Saphira and Eragon will bring that horrible building they call a cathedral down. We have several elf magicians now. We have a whole load of Urgals, Werecats, and Wolves. We have Nora, who seems to have more power than I ever imagined. And we have Nasuada, who has gotten us all through this campaign and will lead us to victory against the Empire."

Catira turned on him with searching eyes.

"How can you be so confident? We are strong, yes, but can we hope to defeat Galbatorix? Once we reach Uru'baen, what will stop him from blowing Eragon out of the sky and slaughtering the rest of us?"

"How can you doubt so much? Trust me, if I didn't think we had a chance of winning, I'd argue my point 'til my mouth was dry, then I'd go back to the life I was living before all this. You are one of the most optimistic people I know, so I don't know what's gotten into you. As long as we have Nasuada, Nora, Eragon, Arya, and all the other magicians and fighters, we can pull this off."

"Whatever you say, soldier."

Eedom smirked at the sarcastic remark and slipped his hand comfortingly around the elf's waist. He was happy to discover that she did not seem displeased with the contact.

* * *

><p>"<strong>What do you want, Lady Nightstalker?"<strong>

Nasuada couldn't help but feel a little uneasy with the wolf sitting before her as regally as an elf queen, speaking to her as an equal. Still, she continued to show outward strength and leaned back comfortably in her seat.

"Some time ago you came and offered the Varden the wolves' assistance. We are grateful beyond words, but…"

"**You wish to know why."**

"You have mentioned a 'Wolfsister' as if she was your leader. Who is she?"

"**It is not my secret."**

"It is mine," a new voice said. The former serving boy Yelivan (whose occupation was now unknown) had entered, wearing a black cloak with the hood up so that only his face was visible. Since their first encounter with the unfeeling soldiers when the wolves had saved the day, she had not seen the lad. "The time for secrets is coming to a close, Nasuada. If you are to defeat Galbatorix, you could use my help."

"What are you doing here, boy? Who are you really?"

He laughed and reached to lower the hood.

"Well, for one thing, I'm not a boy. I am the one called Wolfsister."


	31. Wolfsister Revealed

And the mummy rises from her tomb again. Yet again, I apologize for not updating much and not reviewing new chapters at all. Thank you for the wonderful reviews and thank you for your patience! This should and interesting chapter for you...and the next one should be quite interesting as well. ;) There's a little bit of Ajihad/Rowena and Eedom/Catira, but there will be more later.

Wolfsister Revealed

"We did it! Dras-Leona has fallen! The city is ours!"

Cries such as this resounded across the great city. The cathedral was nothing more than a pile of rubble and Murtagh had fled – all signs of tyrannical dominance were being purged. It was a moment of victory for the Varden. However, in some ways, it grappled at Eragon's heart with paralyzing fear. How were they to defeat the king, even now? Thorn and Murtagh were one issue, but the king…

He had just returned to the Varden camp after attending Wyrden's funeral and was just nearing his tent when the sound of his name being called broke the rider out of his reverie.

"Argetlam! Lady Nasuada wants to see you in her tent as you as can come," the messenger boy panted. "Something…about the princess."

Eragon's insides squirmed a little. Nasuada would not have been pleased at all when she discovered that Nora had been seen leaving on horseback in the direction of Uru'baen as soon as the battle had turned in their favor. She would be even less pleased when she found out that her Rider had actually assisted this move.

It was evening by the time he passed the first few Varden tents, the sound of shattering pottery drew the Rider's attention. His investigation led him to the small tent that belonged to Yelivan. What he found inside, however, was not what he had been expecting. The servant, who had a cloak covering everything but his face, was crouched on the ground with his hand raised over the broken pottery, which mended itself even as the lad opened the tent flap. The young man stood abruptly upon seeing Eragon.

"Were you just using magic, Yelivan?"

The boy silently stood and sent the bowl hovering back to the side of the tent. His green eyes were ablaze with both joy and pain. His voice was different too: softer, deeper, and more mature.

"Argetlam, there is something you should know, now that Lenora has chosen her path. I assume you are going to see Nasuada. I have things to attend to there. I will meet you soon."

Eragon tried to keep a straight face, but he still couldn't picture this magical servant ordering him around.

"Excuse me?"

Yelivan's eyes narrowed and his voice took on an icy quality.

"I am not who I appear to be, _boy_. Now do as you're told. _Go!_"

Stunned, Eragon obeyed. That was no serving boy; that was a commanding, magic-using woman.

* * *

><p>"Well, m'Lady, you refused to answer my questions before. Are you ready to relieve the cliffhanger?" Nasuada asked, her fingernails tapping impatiently on her chair arm. She still bore the weariness of the recently-won battle. "We have important things to discuss…such as Lenora's disappearance."<p>

The woman formerly known as Yelivan stood boldly in the middle of the tent. Her cloak was loose, revealing long, full black hair and a modest, rich purple dress that showed a very womanly shape. The other people in the room were Angela, Eragon, Ajihad with Rowena, Eedom, Catira, Elva, Jormundur, Solembum, and the Werecat king.

"Actually, what I have to say ties directly to your missing girl. And yes. Now that this has happened, I can help you far more freely."

"Please…enlighten us, strange lady."

"I'm actually surprised that no one noticed this little discrepancy. Have I really been that forgotten by the world?" Others were quite interested in the smiling lady's secret, but Nasuada looked bored. "'Yelivan' is actually my real name switched around a bit. My real name is Ivanyel. Lenora is my daughter."

Nasuada's jaw dropped.

"That means that you're…"

"I am the elf queen's sister…and Galbatorix's wife, yes. You must understand that I met Galbatorix before he became king, while he was still wandering in the forests."

"I know he is powerful, but how did Galbatorix manage to fool you?"

"I was fooled with youthful ideas and pity. No enchantments, initially. I was simply…thoughtless. Rather uncommon for an elf, I know. Izlanzadi was the older and the prospective future queen, so I had fewer responsibilities and more time to my own fantasies. I have learned much in my exile."

"Why the wolves?" Nasuada diplomatically queried.

"They were there for me after I escaped Uru'baen. There were assassins chasing me and the wolves came out of nowhere, ripping their throats out before they could react. They have been my family in my loneliness. Please forgive my secrecy, but it was best for everyone if I was thought to be dead and anonymously known as the Wolfsister."

"Does your daughter know you are alive?"

The elf sighed.

"No. For her own protection, she must remain oblivious. Even as she travels to Uru'baen, she will surely meet the king. He also believes I am dead. His knowledge otherwise would be very dangerous."

"But she has despaired without you," Eragon interjected finally. "All this time, she has been lost without a parent to look up to. She has friends here, yes, but she has been alone. She grew up in the shadow of her father with only Murtagh for a companion. Now, he's following the king and all she can think about is rescuing him." Nasuada gave him a scorning 'you knew about her leaving?' look. "Nora is one of the strongest people I have ever known; but perhaps, with you, she would not have gone running into the belly of the beast to save the last good part of her past.

"And she's not just going for a rescue." Here he paused. Did any of these people, other than he and Angela, really understand the heart of Lenora? Had any of them actually tried to find reasons behind who she was? "She's going for revenge. Galbatorix ruined her childhood, destroyed her dreams of the future, murdered her mother, and enslaved the man she loves. She has a personal vendetta against the king that she wants to _keep_ personal. I don't know how much of her drive is for this reason and how much is for the freedom of the rest of us. Perhaps from our own fault, she feels alone in her quest."

"And you helped her," Nasuada growled.

"If it makes you feel any better, I removed the details of the Varden's plans and other vital information from her mind…just a very specific case of memory loss. She asked me to do it. She knows what's at stake."

"This task is part of her curse, I'm afraid," Ivanyel stated. "Tomorrow, I will show you. Mortals need rest."

"Very well," sighed Nasuada. "We will meet here an hour before dawn tomorrow to discuss our next moves."

"As you wish, Lady Nasuada."

"We have had a great victory today. Get some sleep."

When the room began to clear out, a few people skirted around Ivanyel as if she were a wild animal. Angela, however, walked straight up to her. All she needed to say was,

"Tea?"

* * *

><p>Waiting for Angela to prepare the tea, Ivanyel contemplated something she had seen on their way over.<p>

As they walked toward the witch's tent, the elf caught sight of her former 'master' and the elf Catira also walking through the camp. Neither of them had said anything in the tent, but she knew there would be questions eventually. As an elf, Catira deserved some explanation; as kin, Eedom also deserved the same. They weren't holding hands, but they were actually laughing and seemed to be deeply enjoying their conversation. Eedom's dog Duchess bounded around them as she sensed their mirth, picking up sticks and little rocks for her owner to throw for her.

"Angela," she said abruptly when the woman returned with the drinks, "you, Selena, and my sister were the only people I ever considered my true friends. Then I had the wolves."

"Your point?"

"How did I ever fall in love? I just saw Eedom and Catira a few moments ago and…" A dark venom slowly seeped into her voice. "Angela, all I feel outside the numb shell time has made of me is bitterness. All I think about is killing Galbatorix. It consumes every fiber of my being and I feel no need to stop it. I have my power and my secrecy and the wolves and my need for revenge on the man who ruined my very existence and that's all that matters. I brought a curse down upon my only child in this effort and I feel…barely anything. My daughter is risking herself because of something _I _did and she doesn't even know I'm alive. Still, I sit here and talk of it as an evil, selfish plot."

Angela seemed to only hear one thing. She bent forward, staring intently into the wandering eyes of her old friend.

"What curse?"

"Not yet. I will tell you, but...not yet."

* * *

><p>"It makes sense."<p>

"What does?"

Rowena tucked the blanket around the sleeping orphan, Eva, before turning back to her guest.

"Ajihad, don't you see? Ivanyel had no choice but to disappear when the king threatened to kill her. When the Lamvarden came along, she had the perfect opportunity to help our cause without revealing who she was and possibly instigating a reaction from Galbatorix." Ajihad merely hummed in response. He was amazed at how well she took the news of his true identity those few weeks ago. "Why aren't you getting more involved in this? While she is proving herself worthy of leadership, Nasuada isn't exactly being understanding."

"She still has much to learn, but what she has to learn can't be learned from me. Only experience can do that. I purposefully stay back. My life has taken...a new direction."

"Ajihad, the Varden was your life! How can you say that?"

"Because the Varden is in good hands and my life has taken a new direction. I have always chosen to follow my heart before logic and, often enough, they cooperate just fine. My heart has led me to the life of a soldier and adviser with you by my side...hopefully permanently."

Rowena's eyes widened in shock, but she was obviously flattered.

"Ajihad! Being a bit blunt, aren't we?"

"Rowena, do you think a warrior and a former innkeeper could be happy together?"

"I think so..."

* * *

><p>A great disturbance outside tore Angela out of an intriguingly peculiar dream. She sat straight up and looked around, her curls flying. Her old elf friend was already peeking outside.<p>

"Ivanyel, what is going on? Who is out there?"

"Murtagh," replied the woman calmly, having not moved, "and a few dozen soldiers."

"What!" she cried, grappling for the nearest weapon: two wool combs, three feet long each with two rows of long, needle-like steel tines mounted at an angle on the ends. Even a small prick would result in blood poisoning from the wool. "Will you not help? The Varden are not prepared for an attack since they're still celebrating."

There was a fully-fledged skirmish outside now, with dragons roaring, steel clanging, and tents collapsing. Theirs would likely be the next to fall.

"This is part of what must happen, Angela. Nasuada will be taken and you cannot stop him."

"Nas…!" The witch seemed torn between trust and disbelief. "There was a time when you were the first to defend the innocent with your blade and power."

"But I have no blade and my power must remain a secret. I will send the wolves to help."

Heaving a sigh of frustration, Angela evacuated the tent, charging into the assaulting soldiers with a ferocious battle cry.

* * *

><p>Nora had left her horse behind a long time ago. Now, she waited – waited for her ride to arrive. Patiently, passed the time by snacking on a tough hunk of bread.<p>

* * *

><p>Eragon stormed out of Orik's tent where Ivanyel was just standing, unable to hear the recent goings-on because of the wards placed around the tent. He was bleeding and defeated; Nasuada was gone; he just discovered that the responsibility of the Varden leadership was now upon his shoulders, despite his insistence that it be returned to Ajihad; and King Orrin was being a thorn in his side.<p>

"Well, Nora certainly didn't get her intuitive sense of justice from you! Where were you? Our leader has been taken to the king to face unspeakable tortures and probably death and you, our new hope, were not there! Where were you? Why did you disappear when, with all your supposedly great power, you could have probably saved lives?"

"My power would be recognized, young one," the lady said calmly as a few more battered individuals appeared, "and the king would have a chance to prepare for my coming. I will help you when you face the black city, but, until then, things must go according to my plan."

"Does that plan include the lost souls of Murtagh, Nora, and Nasuada and the shattered hope of the resistance?"

"My daughter showed you her vision. She knows some of the roles she must play. She will give you time."

"Her vision? By _dying_?!"

Without another word, as if tragedy had not interrupted her, Ivanyel whispered to the surface of a large cracked mirror on the ground in the ancient language. As the image became clear, he could see Nora was standing on a plain, alone…for now. Because of magical barriers, they were unable to see anyone else in the scene. A few others, including Jormundur, Angela, Solembum, and Arya joined them in watching the scene.

* * *

><p>The sound of beating wings didn't cause her to budge. This was her choice. Eventually, the wind became so violent that she had crouch down to keep from being knocked onto her face, but she still didn't look up. There was heavy breathing, that of a giant creature; then the sound of boots crunching slowly in the dirt behind her.<p>

"You know, you're really stupid. You're out here by yourself, just _waiting _to be captured."

"Thank you for that," she said, standing and licking the crumbs from her fingers, "but I'm just waiting for a ride."

The sound of walking stopped; she could feel his breath on her neck.

"You should run; kill me; do anything but let me touch you."

"Why?"

"I don't want to hurt you, and I couldn't do that any more than I would by bringing you with me. But the king told me to return you to him – no choice. He knows that you've turned against him. And you turned against me."

Her eyes flashed with anger.

"I turned against him the day he first carved his insignia on my shoulder. And I never turned against you even for a second."

Rolling her eyes, the girl swiveled around and almost gasped. Murtagh was…different. His hair was longer, darker, and wilder. His eyes were stormy and more haunted than ever.

"I see you have Nasuada."

"Special request from the king."

She bit her lip before continuing.

"Why do you think I'm here, Murtagh? Really."

His hardened eyes shifted slightly, but his expression remained with little emotion.

"I wouldn't know."

"Really, now?"

* * *

><p>Ivanyel stood strong, keeping her expression blank while the others beside her cringed at the coming loss of their ally, for whom they could do nothing. Her daughter had really grown into a beautiful, strong woman and she was sorry to have missed her growing up, but the events she had planned so meticulously needed to play their part. She would honor the memory of Selena, her best friend, with this victory. Even if it meant a little sacrifice.<p>

* * *

><p>Nora was scared out of her wits, honestly. It wasn't because of Murtagh or even of what might happen after (if) Galbatorix was overthrown. She feared facing her father again. She feared living with him. He had been angry enough the last time she was in his grasp, but he had released her, thinking that she would 'see the error of her ways' and return. Despite her willingness to go back, her father would see through her; he would know that she hated him and that she would do anything to see his downfall. Almost anything. It wouldn't take him long to find her weak point. In reality, though, she didn't know why she was here. She loved Murtagh, but, normally, it wouldn't have necessarily caused her to act so quickly and rashly.<p>

She reached out and took Murtagh's gloved hand in hers, giving it a gentle squeeze.

"I'm here for you, Murtagh. I tried to turn away, but fate and my heart won't let me. My loyalty and friendship remain with you, no matter what you've done or will do. I can't let you go down this path without knowing I'm beside you. Whatever I have to do."

Murtagh still doubted her.

"He'll see past this façade. He'll know that you just want to slip past his guard and destroy him. There will be torture…beyond anything you've ever suffered before."

"You don't know what I've suffered," she snapped before reclaiming her composure. She had to lie to him on this point: "There won't be torture for my façade because there is no façade." There would be torture. He would find out her weakness. He would use it against her. She would have no choice but to swear loyalty and turn on everyone. "My only façade is the truth." She had to say it. "I was confused, but no longer." Say it. "Before, it was…I was afraid that my feelings were only there because of obligation, not for my own sake." Say it. "Whatever you may think…" Say it!

She didn't say it. She grabbed the neck of his armor and pulled him down so that their lips met for a few brief seconds. The kiss was tender and innocent, but it said what words could not express. She had loved him, but confusion and doubt had clouded her emotions until now.

She tried to read what he was thinking, but his mind was still blocked and the only change in expression was a minute softening in his eyes. Perhaps he understood. Perhaps he still…

"Slytha."

_Sleep._

* * *

><p>Galbatorix released the scrying spell and allowed himself to laugh. His plan was working! Nora would be back under his roof; she and Nasuada would serve him…and perhaps <em>one <em>of them would win Murtagh's affections. It would certainly be entertaining to watch.

* * *

><p>Despite the breeze, Murtagh felt like he was being suffocated. He had his former fiancé tied on the saddle behind him and his almost friend lashed on the saddle in front. There was something that strangled his thoughts and constricted his throat. It was like Fate was suddenly taking over him…like a curse was beginning to take its course.<p>

"When you're falling, you're crashing  
>When your fire has turned to ashes<br>When you're screaming, your heart is bleeding  
>When you're feeling like there's no reason<br>I won't let you go  
>No I, I won't let you go"<p>

-Avril Lavigne


	32. Rude Awakening

And, as usual, I apologize for the tardy update. I am almost done with the next chapter and can hopefully finished it soon, despite the fact that my spring term is starting up tomorrow. Yikes!

Rude Awakening

"Rise and shine, Princess." A pain-filled scream echoed through the dim halls as the unsuspecting prisoner received the first of many shocks. "Why did you come back, Lenora?" The scream was muffled this time. "I shall ask you again."

"I was waiting for Murtagh. I _wanted _to be brought back."

"Why?"

"I want to serve the king."

Yet another moan of agony.

"We both know that's a lie."

"Who are you?"

There was a sardonic chuckle from the unidentified man.

"You're drugged and under a bit of pressure, so I suppose your confusion is…understandable."

"You…have to understand…"

"Do I?"

"You wouldn't do this. It can't be you."

"Is that so? Maybe I'm not that person anymore. Maybe I am not that person at all."

"I came back to save the man I love."

"You lie, perhaps."

She repeated herself in Ancient language, but it didn't do her any good.

* * *

><p>After calming herself and putting all possible effort into burying any important information about herself or the Varden, Nasuada tried returning to the merciful embrace of sleep. This was made incredibly difficult by the dim light behind her and hunger and thirst that plagued her.<p>

Her hazy mind wandered to Lenora. Had the girl actually turned herself in? Had she been captured by Murtagh too? Would Lenora actually side with the king, simply pretend to be on his side, or would Nasuada soon hear her tortured screams from an adjoining room? She strained her ears in curiosity, but silence met them and sleep finally claimed her.

* * *

><p>The will to live had always been strong in Nora. It was an overpowering natural impulse that had always crushed any other desire. Only sworn promises or her need to protect Murtagh ever countered that instinct.<p>

No one was torturing her at the moment; in fact, they seemed to be leaving her alone. Despite that, the aftereffects were bad enough. She was, as some would put it, delirious. A number of haunting memories marched passed her closed eyes and some of these memories were accompanied by occasional mutterings.

_"Lenora, I have watched your progress of late and I am impressed. Few can reach your level in magic, let alone at fifteen. I think you are ready for a new teacher."_

_Nora's eyes narrowed. From Durza, a Shade, what could the king possibly have in mind?_

_"__Who?"_

_"__Me, of course. I have to know the abilities of my future most trusted servant. Now, there are many things that I must tell you – secrets of power that only I know."_

In reality, she vaguely saw someone standing at her bedside. There were only two possible people and she hoped it wasn't the older of the two.

_"__This man," the king continued, "is a Varden spy under orders to bring incredibly sensitive information back to our enemies. He was just making his escape when the guards caught him." Sadness seeped into his voice. "Unfortunately, he killed five of our best warriors before he was subdued. In order to be sure of your loyalties, there is one thing I require of you: Kill him."_

Outside the memory, she felt someone's hand on her forehead. She shook it off as she glanced her father's form.

_The waiting victim was a man in his late thirties with wavy black hair, blue eyes, a flat nose, a scraggly beard, and a strong, stocky build. His clothes were fine but simple. His eyes weren't threatening in any way, nor did they show the defeat that he inevitably felt – they were just…determined. He looked like he belonged on a farm, not in the king's castle waiting to be executed for only fighting for his freedom._

_As she studied the man, a complete sadness enveloped Nora. This was the moment when she would either become a martyr or a killer. She would have to either submit to her feelings or harden herself forever. If she declined, she would certainly lose her freedom and, possibly, her life, both of which were luxuries, at this point. If she obeyed, she would forever be branded a killer – by herself, if no one else._

"Shh. It's all right, daughter. You're home and safe."

_Then, she whispered two words that stopped the man's heart forever._

_And she didn't even know his name._

The presence of her father made things unbearable. He had forced her to kill an innocent man. It was unforgivable.

_"I'm finding myself powerful, though…so powerful, I could possibly even overwhelm Murtagh and Thorn without the elves' help and bring him to the justice of the people. But, if I did that, he would never forgive me. His oaths would make him bitter and uncontrollable and the Varden would have to kill him. I couldn't bear that."_

Galbatorix's smooth, resonating, intoxicating voice came floating to her ears.

"You'll be happy to know that Murtagh is here. So is the Varden leader, Nasuada. If you're a good girl, I'll let you torture her yourself. I taught you plenty about that."

"_So, am I left with just staying out of the fight? Am I any good to anyone here at the Varden? I want to be; I really do. I just have…loyalty issues."_

"I'm here, daughter. Just keep thinking."

"_There won't be torture for my façade because there is no façade."_

"Yes. Your thoughts betray you."

_It was a lie. She would suffer._

She hated her father and everything he stood for. She loved Murtagh more than life itself. She would give her life and loyalty only to protect him...assuming that he still cared. For Murtagh alone. She came here for him. She had to remember that and hold in the anger she felt. There was nothing else. She would never believe that there was anything else.

"And now, I think you have learned your lesson."

Too late, she realized that someone had been reading her thoughts, peeking into her unconscious mind.

"I'll release you…and, soon, you will swear loyalty to me. I see you, Lenora."

Darkness crept back into her mind and all was lost.

* * *

><p>Ajihad had his head bent down, massaging his temples with the tips of his fingers. Rowena was standing behind him, comfortingly rubbing his back.<p>

"My daughter… My only daughter…"

"It wasn't your fault. There was nothing you could do."

"It was my fault that she became the Varden's leader in the first place. Instead of hiding, I should have gone directly back to the Varden and taken back control after Lenora sent me away to save my life. She would still be safe and, if anyone had been captured today, it would have been me. It should have been me."

"Ajihad, if you hadn't gone on, we wouldn't have gained the Lamvarden…nearly four hundred people; Eedom would probably be still wandering in the desert with his dog and Catira would still be alone and lonely; oh, and the Varden wouldn't have nearly as many provisions, since our forces are practically the professionals of raiding the Imperial traveling parties." She stopped massaging and walked around to face him. "And, if you had not gone traveling with Eedom, my village would have been slaughtered by Urgals or soldiers…I would not have met you."

"Thank you for your kind words…and I suppose your right, but…she's my daughter."

"I'm sure no one would oppose you if you wanted to take command."

"No," the warrior replied with a shaky breath. "No. If I expose myself more than I have, Galbatorix will know that I live and he will use Nasuada against me…or vice versa. There's nothing I can do for her right now."

Tears shone in his eyes as he drew Rowena onto his lap and leaned his head against her shoulder.

"They'll find her."

* * *

><p>"Welcome to Uru'baen, Nasuada, daughter of Ajihad. Welcome to this, my home, 'neath these ancient, piled rocks. Long has it been since a guest as distinguished as yourself has graced us with their presence. My energies have been occupied elsewhere, but I assure you, from now on, I shall not neglect my duties as host. I was…settling my daughter back into her home."<p>

A deep menace entered his voice with the last two sentences. Galbatorix was here.

* * *

><p>Nora took a deep breath, only to hold it when she remembered where she was. The sheets over her body were soft and warm, but that wasn't what stood out. She wasn't in pain or even sore. It was as if all that torture never happened. But she remembered it…at least the pain part.<p>

"Welcome home, Nora," said a smooth male voice. "I healed you, if you're wondering."

Slowly, she lowered the sheet. Galbatorix in the flesh was sitting at her bedside, wrapped in a black cloak. His bug eyes were staring intensely at her. She suddenly had a flashing thought of how grateful she was to have inherited more of her mother's appearance than her father's.

"You've lost a lot of hair since I left, you know…not including the time you snatched me away using innocent animals."

"Now, my dear…no hard feelings," the king chided, rising and moving toward the grand dark-wood doors. "I have heard your confession, thanks to Murtagh's assistance – that you came here only to be with Murtagh. I know now that you won't be betraying me any time soon. You're too bonded to Murtagh for that. You're my daughter and I love you with all my heart, the way only a father could. In fact, as a celebration for your return, I'm having a little banquet in your honor in a few days. There are clothes in the wardrobe for you, including a dress for the banquet, and a servant will bring hot water for a bath."

As an off-hand addition, he noted, "Oh, but, if you try to betray me again, I won't hesitate to destroy the one thing you love most. I'll see you this evening at dinner. And I expect you to look absolutely gorgeous."

"You wouldn't dare!" she growled; however, her protest was made to the closed door. She had to remember her temper. This was the place where it would get her in deep trouble; unfortunately, it was one of the places that tested her temper the most.

With a huff, Nora bounced out of bed and looked around the room. It was the same room she had grown up in, but it was darker than she remembered. Before, she had been able to add a little color to liven things up; now, it was all black stone walls and maroon drapery. From the large canopied bed, there was a door to the left, a large window to the right, and, opposite, a wardrobe and a door leading to a washroom.

"Let's see what the old man considers a dress nowadays."

She had a mind to just not go to supper at all, but she knew a threat when she heard it. Something tugged at her mind, like something significant had happened while she was asleep. She just couldn't remember what.

* * *

><p>"<strong>You have to be strong,"<strong> the elf thought, stretching out the projection of her counsel as far as her power would allow. She didn't care who else heard it; it was something that everyone in the world right now needed to hear. But she only hoped that it reached Lenora and Nasuada.

Though the king hadn't known it, Catira had been undercover right under his nose for a few years, in a way taking the place of his daughter's recently deceased mother…who, it turned out, was actually alive. A servant in name and duties, she had also played the part of Nora's confidante for the loss of her mother; she had to be discreet about this, of course, as the princess only trusted Murtagh and the trainer Tornac. But she cared for Nora like a little sister, perhaps even like a daughter.

What would Oromis have said about all of this? Just as she had helped him to find the best way of containing his pain, he had helped Catira grow into a more responsible and wise elf. Now, he was gone. Slowly, everyone she truly cared about was being taken away.

"Are you all right?" Eedom asked, riding his horse up next to the woman's own steed.

"Yeah, just great," Cat sarcastically muttered.

"I can see that you're lying. I know that you're worried about Lenora, but she's a strong young woman. Always has been. She'll get through this, just as she gets through everything: not necessarily unscathed, but alive. She's a survivor."

"I know."

"Then snap out of it!"

"Excuse me?" Catira growled threateningly. "Snap out of it? Who are you to tell me to snap out of it? The girl I'm bound to protect slipped away and got herself captured when I was…distracted."

"Distracted? You call that distracted? When I think of distracted, I think of horseback riding under the moon for a week, traveling to exotic places, and fighting personal battles while ignoring everything else around you. You have been teaching the soldiers to fight better, teaching me use magic, and helping to plan our campaign while still keeping a watchful eye on Lenora _and _Nasuada _and _Arya _and_ Eragon. It is officially not your fault, my dear."

The woman glared into the soldier's moss-colored, defiant, dancing eyes.

"Don't look at me like that, elf. I may not be one of your kind, but I'm right and you can't deny it."

Suddenly, a grin broke out on his face.

He was amused! How dare he! Catira actually almost stuck her tongue out at him before settling for simple silence. Haughty, no good joker.

* * *

><p>"Glad you could come, Lenora. I was beginning to worry that you had gotten lost."<p>

"I…simply lost track of time, Father," said Nora, taking the seat to the left of the king, who sat at the head of the gargantuan rectangular table with Murtagh on his right. Her plate was already full of steaming hot, delicious looking food and the other two were almost halfway through their meal.

"Don't think you can lie to me, girl," Galbatorix hissed, raising a goblet of wine to his lips.

"Yes, Father."

While it was said with a meek voice and a down-turned gaze, Nora's insides twisted into an angry knot and she adjusted the shoulder of her dress to put off any notice of the emotion. The dress was floor-length, of light material, and a deep midnight blue. It had an off-the-shoulder neckline that left her neck and collar bone bare with draping sleeves, silver thread lining on the hem, and a delicate jewel belt of sapphires. The other two were almost as richly attired, Murtagh sporting a fine maroon tunic and Galbatorix decked out in black with a heavy cape draped over his chair.

She ate silently, secretly relishing the food (sliced seasoned potatoes, juicy sizzling lamb, freshly baked bread, and some strange, delicate orange fruit that she didn't recognize)…until her father spoke again.

"Murtagh was very worried about you when you arrived. He barely left your side for the first twenty-four hours. Isn't that right, Murtagh?"

Murtagh's eyes remained on his plate as Nora had a flicker of memory those first twenty-four hours. She saw her old friend at her bedside…torturing her.

"Yes," she said quietly, trying and failing to catch the boy's eyes, "he was there for me in my hour of need…just like he always promised." She thought she saw him flinch.

"Of course, it was all he could do. After all, you did return with the intention of rewarding his…loyalty…with your hand, eventually."

The king was full of it. And what was this talk of loyalty and giving up hands? Nevertheless, she gave the king a tight smile to satisfy him before grabbing for more wine. Why wouldn't Murtagh look at her?

"Daughter, do you remember much of when you first arrived here?"

She mentally cringed.

"Just…flashes that don't mean much. I remember pain and I remember Thorn."

"Yes." Galbatorix didn't buy it, so why was he playing along? "I'm afraid the Varden followed you and shot you just as Murtagh was fetching you from the wilderness. The arrow must have been poisoned because it took us a while to finally heal you fully. The Varden wanted you dead rather than see you here, safe."

Did he know that Eragon had erased some of her memory and was he trying to find out how much?

"What of Nasuada?"

"She has been accommodated and will join us soon enough, when she swears loyalty to me and renounces the Varden."

"She'll never do that, you know."

Suddenly, the king's attention (and Murtagh's) was completely focused on her.

"Is that so? How do you know?"

There was something strange in Murtagh's eyes…a sort of begging desperation.

"She… She is strong-willed."

"So were you and Murtagh. Now look. Murtagh is in my service and you are almost ready to swear loyalty yourself. You may one day find the daughter of Ajihad to be an excellent servant…or, if she proves herself better than you, your queen."

Nora's eyes widened in shock. Was her father seriously going to pit her, a magician princess, against the magic-less human? Was this a desperate ploy to get her to swear loyalty on her own? And was it just for the crown that she didn't want anyway? There was a different, underlying threat. Something that translated from Murtagh's eyes. In the event of his death or as mere pawns during his life, Galbatorix wanted a king _and _a queen to carry on his legacy. Not only would she lose the crown (which, again, she didn't want), but she would also lose Murtagh if Nasuada somehow proved herself more...worthy. But…that momentary look of longing in his eyes before he looked away again…what did he think of this?

"Now," the king continued, getting up from his seat and offering his arm to Nora, "I shall escort you back to your room, my dear."

Hesitantly, the girl obeyed, taking her father's arm and walking out, but not without looking back at the brooding boy behind them.

* * *

><p>With the king gone and only the servants there to clean the table, Murtagh reached for a still-full bottle of ale. As Nora turned away to leave, he had seen her shoulder scar. <em>Wyrda<em>. She didn't even seem to be conscious of it anymore. He saw the defiance in her dark eyes, but she seemed determined not to defy the king directly. What was she thinking? Was there a threat to add to that scar…again? He shivered as he remembered seeing that wound, freshly opened, after their escape from the prison with Eragon.

_With a thin blade of some sort, someone had carved the word __wyrda__ or 'fate' into her right shoulder – each letter was jaggedly scrawled at least half an inch high. The horrid thing was at least a few days old, the skin around it was red and puckered, and it was clearly becoming infected._

_"That's not the first time someone claimed her future."_

_"That's it!" Eragon fumed with a croak. "I am sick and tired of you dancing around my questions. I know that you know this girl. My question is: How?"_

_For a moment, Murtagh didn't answer, concentrating on re-lacing Nora's stained blouse and replacing her on the ground._

_"She and I...we practically grew up together. Aside from Tornac, she was the only true friend I ever had. We have a lot of…history."_

Murtagh gulped down another mouthful of alcohol as another picture of torture appeared before his eyes.

_The king had used his True Name. He had no choice, yet his stomach still churned at the sound of Nasuada's screams when the hot iron touched her flesh. They had repeated this so many times: talking, defiance, and torture. Part of him wanted to run out of that room and not look back; part of him wanted her to give in and spare herself the agony; but part of him wanted her to hold on until the Varden arrived and just maybe rescued her. She was so strong, so far. If only she could hold out, maybe she would be spared his fate._

Taking the bottle with him, Murtagh slowly got up and walked down the hallway in a direction that would eventually take him to Nasuada. According to Galbatorix, Nora had somehow not been telling the whole truth when they tortured her. She didn't just come here for him. He wasn't that important to her. Why would that be the case? Nora knew the king and had practically volunteered to come; Nasuada was a frightened prisoner with her fate hanging by a thread.

He didn't know that Nasuada's fate was not the only one hanging in the balance.

* * *

><p>In a word, she was bored. Sure, Galbatorix had said she was free to roam, but…where would she go? She sat on her bed, staring out the window and thinking of Murtagh. Her primary conscious reason for coming here was to save Murtagh, but he wouldn't even hardly meet her gaze at dinner. He had been the one to torment her. He had put her to sleep when she had volunteered to come. He didn't believe her.<p>

In that moment, something dawned on the princess. All this time, she had put her complete faith in a man she thought she still loved. She trusted him; she had declared her trust in him.

_"You trust Murtagh, apparently."_

_"Because he knows me; he knows my situation; and we practically grew up together. How would you feel if you only had one person that you could completely rely on? Not very trusting, in my opinion, because I know."_

She thought he felt the same, at least during those weeks after he had rescued her. If anything, she had been the cold one because of her years in hiding. He _had _cared for her. But what happened?

_After about ten minutes, Murtagh used his superior body mass to make her fall to the ground; however, before he could claim a victory, Nora kicked his legs out from under him and, before he knew it, her sword was at his throat._

_"I have not lost my touch," she huffed, slightly out of breath, but otherwise physically ready to enter the battle that faced them._

_As she sheathed her broadsword, Murtagh stood, copying her movement and watching her through his shaggy bangs._

_"What __did __those years do to you?"_

_Her eyebrows furrowed at the question._

_"What do you mean?"_

_"Why are you so distant towards me, now?"_

_"You should remember that I don't impress easily," she smirked, starting to walk away._

_With a mischievous glint in his eyes, Murtagh grabbed the lady's wrist, yanked her backwards, and twirled her gracefully around into a dip that left her breathless and staring the boy right in the face._

_"Impressed yet, angel?"_

Angel. He had cared. More than life itself. She had heard it from his own lips and seen it in his eyes. Did he not see that she now carried his old sword in his memory? She refused to lose hope.

**They will die. Revenge. Sleep, now. Kill later. **

The voice. That whispering voice! It was back!

Shivering in horror, Nora curled up into her bed, trying to make herself as small as possible.

It was back.


	33. Letters to My Mother: Part 1

Finally finished another one! This chapter and the coming two were actually originally just one single chapter. After it hit 16 pages on the Word document, I decided to split it into three. So much I needed to get in here! I only have one more scene to finish in the next chapter, so it should be up within a few days.

**Bold **sections in the next two chapters are parts of Nora's journal. Enjoy!

Letters to My Mother

Part 1

"Ivanyel."

The elf looked up at a brooding Angela from reinforcing her newly acquired blade. The woman was exiting from the tent she and the elf temporarily shared, carrying some sort of book. While the witch was a dear friend, living in a cramped tent with her for this long was getting tiresome. She was used to the wild, living under the trees and stars with wolves for company. Luckily, with all of this traveling to Uru'baen, they got plenty of fresh air.

"Do you require something, Angela?"

"Read this and tell me what you think. Tell me you didn't do what I think you did. That girl is…"

She cut off and, without further ado, she tossed the book to Ivanyel. She then proceeded to sit down in a rickety chair across from the elf, putting their warm fire between them, and furiously begin to knit something.

The handwriting inside the leather-bound volume was neat and slanted, but obviously written in times of frequent desperation.

**As the lovely witch Angela requests, I will share some memories as they come to mind, some painful, others comical, but all simply what comes to my mind, as requested. It all means something…I just don't know what.**

**I hear a song that no one else hears. At first, I just thought that someone was singing in the camp. But it has followed me wherever I go…and it's getting louder. I can barely hear it, but it's there!**

* * *

><p><strong>Eedom beat me today when we were sparring. That has <strong>_**never**_** happened. Most of the time, I can ignore it, but…curse this noise!**

* * *

><p>Murtagh grudgingly stepped into the grand banquet hall, adjusting his black coat. There were several dozen overstuffed lords and ladies present, some dancing and others chatting about the latest scandal. It was as if there was no war to worry about.<p>

"Murtagh!" the king exclaimed, detaching himself from a group of ladies obviously just sucking up to him. "Have you seen my daughter yet?"

"I'm afraid I only just arrived," the lad replied stiffly.

"She should be here soon…if she cares at all."

And the king was once again gone. It was amazing how such a controlling tyrant could be such a social butterfly when the situation called for it. Only a few moments passed before the hall suddenly went silent and the king's voice rang out for all to hear:

"The guest of honor: my daughter, Lenora. We are all grateful for your return and we raise a toast to your health."

Lacking a glass to raise, Murtagh shifted in the small crowd to catch sight of the new arrival, already beginning to be ignored even as the guests drank to her health. Her existence had been such a secret when she was growing up that people seemed to still automatically disregarded, as if their lives depended on it.

In reality, Nora was…ravishing. Her deep red gown was floor-length, sleek, and sparkling. It was an overbust-corset-like bodice that left her neck and shoulders with long sleeves loosely attached. On her head was a circlet of silver with a blood-colored gem resting on her brow. A small metal clip held back her full, curly, long hair and her dark eyes were lined with charcoal. Though she smiled with the few seconds of attention, her face dropped as she went to get herself a drink. She went straight for the wine. Murtagh followed, intent on avoiding all possible conversation and, having made his appearance, leaving to visit a certain prisoner when no one was looking.

* * *

><p>"It's so wonderful to have you back, your Highness," twittered the little woman with close-set eyes and a frog-like mouth. "The king was so worried. He...he was furious when you left all those years ago."<p>

"Hm-hm," Nora hummed noncommittally, draining her wine in a few gulps and refilling her glass.

"I do hope can still keep your place as the heir. Is it true that Murtagh convinced the king to capture the Varden leader instead of killing her? It seems to me to be a rather obvious sign of…well, affection. And I know that the king wants his line to continue, perhaps even if it means through adoption. Murtagh is the obvious choir for a future king and it's not as if the king would force his affections in a certain direction."

"Yes, he would," Nora growled, now offended. Was that _really_ Galbatorix's plan – to pit her against Nasuada for Murtagh's heart and, through that, the crown, depending on whether their loyalties were to him? Would her standing as his daughter be overcome by this strange new desperation for a continued line, despite his apparently eternal longevity? "However," she continued, "Murtagh and I have been betrothed since we were children. The king is volatile, yes, but he usually sticks with his plans."

"Yes, but…" The woman's voice lowered in volume significantly. "You know how he likes to…play games. From what I understand, that was the reason several of the last Dragon Riders died."

"Then you should remember that it is the king's daughter you are talking to, woman."

Eyes bulging, the noblewoman skittered away to gossip with a few gentlemen in a far corner.

* * *

><p>Murtagh watched Nora glare after a heavily adorned lady of the court as he approached. Her scent wafted over him as he neared. She still smelled like a grassy forest after a spring rain. Despite her captivity, her scent still reflected the place where she belonged: somewhere free. That was where they both belonged.<p>

"You look well," the woman noted, glancing up from her glass. He couldn't tell what she was thinking, which concerned him; he had knocked her out and brought her back to her hated home, so she had a right to be angry. He knew that she was merely exchanging pleasantries, as he looked far from 'well'. Aside from his fine clothes, his eyes were sunken from a lack of sleep and his hair was longer than preferred.

"As do you. I trust you slept well?"

"Unnecessary as it was, yes," she replied blankly. "You tortured me, Murtagh. I know it was against your will and that you were not the only one doing the tormenting, but I still don't understand why you said all those things. Has the king turned you against me now?"

"Why should you care?"

"You know."

"No, I don't."

"You've changed, Murtagh. There's something about your thoughts that… I now wonder if… You're not mine anymore, I think."

"What did you expect?" he snipped, stalking away when he noticed Galbatorix coming.

* * *

><p>"I know you say that I am assuming things<br>Something's going down, that's the way it seems  
>Shouldn't be the reason why you're acting strange<p>

.

Say my name, say my name  
>If no one is around you<br>Say baby I love you  
>If you ain't runnin' game<br>Say my name, say my name  
>You actin' kinda shady<br>Ain't callin' me baby  
>Why the sudden change"<p>

– Destiny's Child

* * *

><p>"Nora, what are you doing here?"<p>

The girl stood her ground, looking up at Murtagh with determination boiling in her eyes. She still wore her gown from before, but, while she had taken on the princess-like air in the banquet hall, she was presently standing with her legs apart and firmly planted, fists on her hips, and her shoulders slightly hunched.

"I'm here to talk to the _other _prisoner. I'm sure you're taking care of the 'comforting' department."

Murtagh's eyebrows knit together at that statement.

"Nasuada is none of your business."

"From what I've been hearing from my father and the court, she is very much my business. She is _in my _business."

"She is the king's business. He had her brought here to win her over."

"That and to play a little love triangle game with the three of us, which I suspect is _very _entertaining at the moment."

_"I know what you mean. Nasuada said that she visited you. Did she say anything interesting?" In connecting the dots of Nasuada's visitations with both Murtagh and Nora, he was hoping to satisfy his own curiosity._

_The other boy's gaze suddenly seemed rather distant._

_"No, she only wanted to meet me. Doesn't she look like a princess? And the way she carries herself! When she first entered through that doorway, I thought she was one of the great ladies of Galbatorix's court. I've seen earls and counts who had wives that, compared to her, were more fitted for life as a hog than of nobility."_

"Murtagh," Nora continued, "whatever is going on…I'm your betrothed. Or I was. You never used to shut me out like this."

"I'm not the only one clamming up."

"We were best friends and almost…" She cut off, her hands slipping off of her hips and going limp at her sides.

_"She and Tornac were my only friends that I could trust even in the least. She and I… You have to understand that my father was Galbatorix's closest servant."_

_"Spit it out, Murtagh."_

_"We were betrothed."_

_Eragon coughed at the shocking logic of it all. How did he not see that coming?_

_"Were?" he stuttered. None of this seemed logical compared to Murtagh's previous daydreaming over Nasuada._

_"Are – were…it's complicated. The king arranged it a few years ago to secure his legacy and his most faithful servant's son was the most ideal partner for his heir."_

_"Complicated? I've seen how protective you are of her, and she you. It's seems rather quite convenient, to me."_

Murtagh looked down at her, pressing his lips together. She had become so much like her mother...at least what he remembered. She was beautiful, stern, determined, and powerful. He remembered Nora's mother as being kind and easy to approach. But Nora seemed to have lost that approachability. She was wound like a spring ready to burst.

* * *

><p>"Nora, whatever you want to talk about can wait. She needs to rest while she can," Murtagh began, breaking the silence, but Nora cut in with a warning hiss. Her momentary weakness had been replace by painful malice.<p>

"I'm sure she's been getting plenty of rest with your shoulder on which to lay her lovely head."

"She doesn't need your self-pitying taunting."

"Me self-pitying? Look who's talking." She could tell that stung. "You don't know anything about me anymore, Murtagh."

In silence, he opened the chamber door and left. The lack of a positive answer stung at Nora's heart, but the memory of his affection for her encouraged vain hope.

"Come to visit the prisoner, Princess?" Nasuada mocked quietly, causing the other woman to narrow her eyes in insult.

"I'll have you know that, three days ago, I was unconscious on my bed, being tortured, reliving the most horrible memories, and having my father clawing through my mind. Admittedly, I don't remember most of it, but I fear he may know more about my true nature than I would prefer."

"You gave in that easily?"

"No," Nora whispered, attempting to pacify the angered girl, "but I think I won't have a choice, soon."

Settling a bit (what she could, still being secured to the stone table), Nasuada continued to glance warily at her companion.

"How did you get here? Did Murtagh find you?"

"Aye. He sedated me and brought me here. I don't think Galbatorix finds me a threat anymore…and that worries me. How have you held out? I heard whispers of screams coming from this area."

"Murtagh." A dark anger crept up in Nora at the name. "Despite being forced to torture me, he has been my only comfort, my only connection to reality. He's very protective. It's…" She stopped upon remembering who she was talking to.

Nora stood there, shivering with sudden emotion and denial.

"He…_comforted_ you and left me to loneliness and despair? He's…_protective_? No! I don't believe it. He's _my _betrothed. He's _my _best friend. He's...he's my only friend."

"That's not true. You have Angela and Eragon and…many others. Actually, you might like to know that…"

"I don't want to hear anything from you, Nasuada!" Nora growled, cutting her off.

"But there's…"

"No! You're a liar and you will not take him away from me. Murtagh loves me, as he has always loved me."

"But…"

"_Don't_ expect any help from me, Nasuada. I came here for Murtagh and Murtagh alone."

"Can you really be that selfish? Have you asked Murtagh what he wants lately?"

"Stay out of my business!"

Several seconds went by.

"Have you started talking to yourself now?" Nasuada chided.

"I didn't say anything!"

"Yes, you did. You said something like… 'hush, child'."

Nora went pale with horror.

"…hush, child?"

"Yes, I'm sure…but…"

"Good night, Nasuada," the woman snipped, rushing out.

* * *

><p>As Nora stormed past him, Galbatorix smiled. He had arrived just in time to hear the two women argue. Of course, Nora and Murtagh were perfectly under his control, but it was still nice to have a little amusement around.<p>

* * *

><p><em><strong>"<strong>__**On the other hand," I offered, "there **__**is**__** this bush in the far corner of No One's garden that I found last year… It's hollow in the middle and makes the perfect hiding place. We can just blow off our lessons for the day. Nobody ever goes to that part of the gardens anymore."**_

_**"**__**Are you sure you want to go to No One's garden?"**_

_**"**__**When you can't find me, that's usually where I am."**_

_**"**__**Why there?"**_

_**I smiled a smile mixed with amusement and pain.**_

_**"**__**Do you honestly have to ask, Murtagh?"**_

_**No One's garden. That had just been a nickname for part of the royal gardens we snuck around in all the time. It **__**had**__** been a private garden, and it was still maintained, but no one ever used it as a private garden anymore. So, it became our favorite playground.**_

**It had been my mother's personal garden. It was one of the few places where I could hide and feel safe. But you, my mother, were never there for me. Your troubles are over and you have passed them on to me. Nowhere is safe. There is only a fate of darkness and despair. Is that my future? Is it in my vision?**

**I heard the voice say something in the noise: Hush, child. Are these memories? Am I going mad?**

* * *

><p><strong>The voice is gone – thank whatever forces are watching me! I even came close to beating Arya in a spar. Finally.<strong>

* * *

><p>Murtagh stalked down the hallway, exhausted and worried. He was doing his best to not go right back to Nasuada…people might start getting suspicious if he went there too often. And Nora was acting completely irrational, talking about him being unfaithful to a betrothal that hardly existed anymore. Galbatorix was too focused on Eragon, the Varden, and turning Nasuada to worry about heirs.<p>

But what if she was right?

Nonsense.

"So, I suppose asking for an 'I missed you' _kiss_ wasn't an option." Murtagh froze and looked to where the voice was coming from in the shadows. Nora slowly emerged, still in her seductive red gown, her hair a mess and a wine bottle in her hand. "Whatever happened to those promises we made to never leave each other behind…that we would always be there for each other?!"

The volume of her voice had gotten marginally louder and more threatening. A slight slowing of speech made it appear to be the wine talking. Now that he thought of it, he had never actually seen Lenora drunk. Apparently, it was causing her usual stonewall emotional barrier to cave. Frankly, however, Murtagh was tired, conflicted, and not in the mood to face his former betrothed.

"What do you want, Lenora?"

"What do I want? I don't think I know anymore. I came here for the man I love…but he's lost. Now, I'm trapped here by my father and the promises I made years ago, when I could be helping to destroy all this." At 'this', she gestured at the hallway with her bottle-holding hand. Tears began to show in her eyes, threatening to fall.

"I…I came here to save you…I thought… Am I really cursed? Did my mother doom me to get her revenge by dying in this rattrap? Without my consent?!" Now she was momentarily reduced to a quiet whine. "My father knows my True Name…or he will soon…he'll figure it out…he'll use it. I'm too _stubborn_ to change. Too _stubborn_ to see what's right in front me until it's too late. I thought… You were the only reason I went on. We protected each other. We're…we were a team. Without you…my friend…my love…why try?

"I wanted to destroy my father for revenge, but…in my heart…it was so we could be free to live. Remember our plans? Travel? The farm? The adventures? We were free spirits. Now, you're lost…and I'm…I'll be broken. My last act…will be in vain."

Murtagh shook his head.

"Last act? What _are _you talking about, Nora?"

He was probably being more insensitive than she deserved, but he couldn't help it at that moment. After what he had been through, after what he had seen… Nora was broken, would break. Nasuada was stronger, more collected, even in her continued pain. Nora's True Name was all but given; Nasuada was…impenetrable. He and Nora were damaged and lost, but Nasuada demanded respect and the chance at life. She was a true leader and knew what she fought for. Nora…he didn't understand his old friend any more, especially after she had seemed so cozy with Eragon. She seemed more like a madwoman now rather than his old friend.

"The vision…" With a gasp of despair, she sank to the floor. Murtagh, suddenly concerned, followed as the girl purposefully set the wine bottle on the ground.

"What vision, Nora? What are you talking about?"


	34. Letters to My Mother: Part 2

I don't think this chapter shows any more hope than the last one, but, if I'm going to get the conclusion I want, it's necessary. Ooh, the suspense. I have one more chapter that precedes the Uru'baen excitement. Hopefully, I can get it up tonight or tomorrow.

By the way, the words of the 'voice' Nora keeps hearing are from Heather Dale's "Mordred's Lullaby." Other than it being just a plain gorgeous song, I thought it matched Ivanyel's desire for revenge very well.

Letters to My Mother

Part 2

Silence pervaded the scene, but Murtagh was determined to be answered. What had she meant?

"What _vision_?"

Empty eyes met his.

"Who am I to you, Murtagh? Who am I, period? Am I the warrior who sacrificed her freedom for love and country to help bring down an empire? Or am I really just a weak, despairing girl who came here because she was chasing after the last good memory she had? It's gone."

"What. Vision?"

Nora's lips trembled. She seemed to not hear the question at first and, instead, she reached out to Murtagh's neck and ripped the chain from it, sending the attached star pendant flying. He simply watched as the ornament rolled around in circles several times before settling between them. Its final settling clink echoed in the empty space.

"Why did you keep the necklace if you don't care?"

The man had actually forgotten that he still wore it. He didn't even know why; it was just…instinct. Every time he had considered removing the necklace, the last token he had from Nora, he would just…forget. If he cared as little about this woman as he told himself, why keep such a sentimental trinket? What kept him attached to it?

Shaking himself back to reality, he loudly repeated,

"What vision!"

"Death." The response was barely even a whisper, but the tear crawling down her cheek testified to its sincerity. She suddenly seemed to be filled with, not quite rage, but…it was like she had seen all of the agony of time in one second. "In-light-and-rage-and-despair-and-pain…ripping-tearing-nauseating-burning-burning-burning! The soul torn out, the fate sealed, the curse fulfilled, the mission finished, the life not worth living ended. I will see love and I will know anguish…and then I will die. Simply that. And the noise! It's back! I can hear it's whispering, getting louder… It's calling me and I have no choice but to answer with my life. What is it doing to me?"

In silence, she got up and swept away, leaving a stunned Murtagh on the floor with a broken necklace and an almost empty bottle of wine.

* * *

><p><em><strong>"Manin, wyrda, hugin. It seems that the Ivanyel's legacy may be repaired, after all. Today is a day of forgiveness. It should not be different for the daughter of my lost sister." I went stiff as the great leader of the forest enveloped me in a motherly embrace. But then, I couldn't help but relax in that embrace, the closest thing to my mother I had gotten in years. I buried my face in Islanzadi's shoulder, overcome. "You are safe, child. This evening, I will hear your story."<strong>_

**That was the only time when I ever really felt accepted anywhere. If I didn't have this overwhelming feeling that I would never get the chance to go anywhere after Galbatorix is gone, I think I would like to go back. Maybe I could have lived there, even, and somehow repaired your legacy. **

_**"**__**This wasn't supposed to happen. I'm not going to ask you to run away with me because I know you can't. I wish I knew how I was brought here and how you were able to see me hurt like that without even blinking. This way, I'll save you from what he has planned next. I only hope that we haven't lost what we had, despite everything that's happening. But I can't say that I love you, either, because I don't know if that's true any more…not after everything that's happened."**_

**I don't feel that way anymore. I love him.**

**You died, Mother. You left me without a word. To this day, I don't know if you were killed in your sleep or tracked down by Galbatorix's minions in some deep, distant forest. What happened? Why did you leave me alone? I don't even have Murtagh.**

**I never got to say goodbye, but I still remember that last day. You made me promise that I would be strong, that I would know love and let it inspire me. You didn't tell me that I would suffer and have to fight to have **_**any **_**life, that it would **_**kill **_**me in the end. I want to ignore your advice. I want to save Murtagh and run. But there's more to it, isn't there? Are you to blame?**

Slowly, Ivanyel closed the journal and stared into the fire.

Angela, noticing that she had stopped, set her knitting down promptly.

"What does this mean, Ivanyel? As your friend, I deserve to know."

The elf sat quietly for a moment, considering her words.

"She's hearing the call."

* * *

><p>Catira suddenly bounded up from Eedom's cot and began to pace. Eedom paused in whetting his sword. The elf had arrived at his tent nearly an hour ago, claiming that she needed someone to talk to. Since then, she sat on his bed, utterly silent until now.<p>

"That's it!" she exclaimed. "I have to save her. She's my responsibility."

"Cat, this is the king we're talking about. You can't just waltz up the castle, demand for her release, and expect them to comply. You'll just get yourself caught." The woman looked livid. "Look, I'll help you, all right? When the Varden attacks Uru'baen, we'll sneak in and find her."

* * *

><p>"Murtagh," she said as the man turned to go. "Why?"<p>

He seemed to understand the question. Why her and not his betrothed? Why put so much effort and determination into saving her and not the woman he had once considered his future wife? Why did he protect her so much, when he could? She thought she knew the answer, but she wanted to hear it. Was she really that important to him, even compared to his childhood friend?

For a moment, as he stared, she thought he wouldn't answer, but he did.

"You know why."

* * *

><p>As Murtagh opened the door, he paused in surprise. Nora was standing almost right in front of him, staring blankly. Her eyes gave no hints of what she thought, but it was obvious that she had heard at least the end of his visit with Nasuada.<p>

After a few seconds, however, without a word, she turned and walked away, the heels of her shoes clacking eerily on the stone floor. He didn't move until the echoing sound died out. Was Nora really strong enough to defy the king without his help?

* * *

><p>Only she knew her true name. It taunted her, ripped at her soul, yanked on the strings of her fate. Everything in her life was tied down and dictated to her. All she wanted was freedom.<p>

The years living in Carvahall had taught her to forget her true name. Certainly, it had changed at least once with everything that had happened since her first departure from Uru'baen, but she had forced herself to remember for this once purpose. Once again, she would have to be the Ice Queen. All for Murtagh.

_With one definitive cry, the damsel ran to the mirror and punched it with her bare fist. It shattered deafeningly. She flattered herself by thinking of it as reflecting her life falling apart – her self-pity falling away._

_A knock sounded at the door._

"_Nora…Nora, please let me in."_

_With a wave of her hand, the door opened, admitting a dark young man in black leather. Only a few months older than Nora, he was her best friend and now…_

"_Nora, what did you do?" he growled grabbing her bloody fist and a dragging her to the adjacent washroom to clean the cuts with a towel._

_Sitting on the edge of the large tub, Nora tried in vain to yank her hand away from the handsome boy._

"_Leave it to bleed. I at least feel alive."_

"_Nora, why did you do that?" Murtagh sighed, dabbing gently at the slices and looking for slivers of glass._

"_I wanted to see that I was an independent human being still and not some lifeless puppet."_

_Silently, he found a strip of white cloth and wrapped her hand._

"_I know." Sadly, they walked back into the room to the large window. The moon seemed to light up the countryside beyond the horrors of Uru'baen. "We have a choice to make. Do we bother resisting Galbatorix's wishes?"_

"_What choice do we have?"_

"_To run or resign."_

_A determined spark of anger flickered in Nora's eyes._

"_He forces me to choose between my two greatest wishes."_

"_I'm flattered."_

"_Don't even, Murtagh. We have to run – now, before this goes any farther."_

"_How are you planning on getting yourself out of here?"_

"_Myself? We are both going, my friend. I'll not leave you to the king's wrath alone."_

"_We can't both get out. One, yes, but two people…one of us would die in the attempt and I don't want to risk it."_

"_No, Murtagh! I won't leave you."_

All for that stupid, stubborn, horrible, crazy man that she loved. At least she told herself that. The unknown reason frightened her.

"Father, I know my true name...and I will give it to you on one condition: as of today, you will cease tormenting Nasuada and Murtagh with your love of pain and sorrow. If you wish to torture anyone, it will be me and me alone."

Galbatorix sat in silence for a moment, lounging on his throne in the empty black hall.

"What brought this on?"

The princess held her head high. She had risen early before dawn to prepare herself for this. After remedying a hangover from the night she had spent with a bottle of some rather potent alcohol, she had bathed and dressed. Her hair was in an elegant, high bun that allowed strands of curls to dangle down around her face and shoulders. Her dress was blood-red, floor-length, and sleeveless with a sleek laced bodice.

"I want Murtagh and Nasuada to pay in the way I have foreseen. He'll see all of his mistakes and he will regret them before the end."

"How could I…?"

"I want to do it myself," she interrupted quickly. "I have my own ideas."

Again, silence, characterized only by the king's smile.

"Well…Nasuada has proven to be far more resilient and stubborn than I anticipated, even against my mental fantasies I provided. It is good that you come to me with this now; otherwise, I may have simply made an example of the girl. Now, daughter…your Name, please."

Nora shivered but spoke the few phrases of her Name clearly for her master. Her Name was fearsome, tragic, beautiful, sad, full of loyalty, and terribly revealing. Uttering it sent violent shivers down her spine. As she knelt there, trembling and breathing quickly, the king's smile grew.

_Hush, child  
>The darkness will rise from the deep<br>And carry you down into sleep._


	35. The Voices Beneath

The Voices Beneath

"Guileless son, I'll shape your belief  
>And you'll always know that your father's a thief<br>And you won't understand the cause of your grief  
>But you'll always follow the voices beneath"<p>

– Heather Dale

Rowena, restless with thoughts of war and love, bent over scrubbing a large pot that had been used to feed at least several dozen soldiers a stew that one of the other women had concocted. Soap bubbles clung to her clothes and hair. The other cleaners had gone to bed at her overwhelming insistence. They needed rest and she needed space to think.

However, it was not long before she was joined by some rather unusual companions. A Werecat had wandered onto the scene at one point, though he left as soon as he heard the arrival of part of Ivanyel's wolf pack. The leader, Gaho she believed the name was, looked around as she entered the large cooking tent and slowly led about a dozen others in laying near the still-burning cook fire.

Next arrived Eedom's dog, Duchess, who stopped halfway into the tent and lowered her head, inspecting the wolves. Rowena expected the mutt to growl, but, after a moment, she walked up to the pack and began sniffing the smallest, a pup. The pup reacted by snapping playfully at Duchess' nose and the two were soon bounding about the tent, chasing each other. Only a few of the wolves watched, and only lazily.

Deciding that it was safe, Rowena went back to rinsing her pot.

Suddenly, a soft, musical laugh interrupted the night quiet yet again. Ivanyel entered through the loose tent flap, holding a leather-bound book to her chest, and moved to sit at the long wooden table. She continued to chuckle at the dog and wolf's antics.

"Do you mind the company, Rowena?" she asked tiredly.

"You can't sleep either, lass?"

Ignoring the question, the elf nodded toward Rowena's pruned hands.

"You are wearing a ring. You didn't have that before."

Rowena blushed a little.

"After this is over, Ajihad and I plan to marry and move to the country. I wear the ring now because I feared that he would lose it in battle."

Invanyel's eyes seemed to go out of focus for a moment.

"A quiet country life isn't in your future."

"Is that so?" the woman replied doubtfully, setting the pot aside and grabbing the last few bowls. "You see the future?"

"While many seers have learned through ceremony and smoke, such as Angela, some magic users can almost see the future at will. You, Rowena, will return to your true passion of innkeeping and Ajihad will discover a new interest in politics. You will be together, still."

"Assuming that we win this war."

"I have invested in it."

"With what?" She was still doubtful.

"With my daughter."

"How so? Lenora left on her own free will."

"So she thinks," the grand lady cooed sadly. "Rowena, what did you feel when you found out who Ajihad really was? Were you angry?"

The cleaner shrugged.

"At first, but, seeing who he was and how important he was, I understood. How could I be angry?"

"Do you have children?"

The monotonous mentality of the scrubbing put Rowena into a careless but contemplative mood.

"No children. No dead husband. No past family connections since my mum died nine years ago. Although, I am, momentarily, the guardian of one of our orphan girls. Why?"

"The power of magic and the strength of anger can be a terrible combination. I doomed my daughter to her fate and she didn't know it. It's imbedded in her mind, always there, ready to show itself when the time is right."

"You're her mother. How horrible could that fate possibly be?"

Ivanyel remained silent for a moment, thumbing through her book with an unreadable expression.

"With the spell I placed all those years ago… Best case scenario, insanity; worst case, death. I placed other, non-magical, barriers to ensure that her true name will always support my plan, no matter how it changes in its subtleties, such as reassuring her that Murtagh would always be hers. Even if he fell in love with another woman, Lenora would always be convinced that she couldn't lose. Because of her loyalty to Murtagh, it is unlikely that the spell will fail."

Rowena had stopped scrubbing and sat down on the other side of the table. The animals had gone silent and still.

"What will it do to her?"

"Her fate is to see Galbatorix's demise, even if it means giving her life to buy time for someone else to lay the final blow. Over the years, as the spell-caster, I have seen flashes of possibilities for her success – always success. They change as she changes. Once, I saw her leading her own personal army of trained magicians, loyal only to her, in storming the throne room and overwhelming the king after they destroyed his strength. That, however, changed when she left Uru'baen for her travels.

"I saw her becoming the apprentice of King Orrin in his scientific efforts and inventing an explosive that took down the king's whole castle with one strike. That, however, changed when she turned down a wagon ride to Surda and instead traveled to Carvahall. I saw Galbatorix finding her in Carvahall and, while he tortured her, Brom slipped the blade of Zar'roc through his heart. That, however, changed when Saphira hatched and they all left Carvahall. Now, I see her surrounded by light…depending on the spell Galbatorix uses, she will die or go mad. Truly mad."

Rowena was rubbing her temples with her fingertips by this point. And she thought she had problems! This lady was mad herself! She took a breath to steady her next words.

"She doesn't know you're alive and you've cursed her to the point of death, extreme pain, or insanity. I can only hope that Galbatorix is killed…and that she won't kill you."

The elf hung her head in utter desolation.

"What have I done?"

* * *

><p>Only moments after leaving Rowena, Ivanyel had gathered her strength and performed the spell that transported her directly inside the gates of Uru'baen. She would have to sneak in the rest of the way. Yes, performing such magic was highly dangerous and draining and complicated…for a normal magician. Ivanyel, however, was not only a great magician, but also a naturally talented elf with immense strength and years of solitude, determination, and practice behind her. This was not the first time she had traveled somewhere in this fashion.<p>

Getting into the castle was actually easy enough for her since Galbatorix hadn't changed any of his warding enchantments and, having been at his side playing the little queen for over ten years, she knew the ins and outs of every nook and cranny in that place. No one else would have been able to do it so well, other than the king himself.

It only took her an hour to reach the door she recognized as her daughter's. Noiselessly, she slipped into the room and crept toward the bed, her feet barely touching the floor. A few coals glowed in the hearth, evidence of an earlier fire, and the form on the bed moved slightly as the girl breathed, but everything else was lifeless. Finally, she knelt at the bedside, unseen and completely undetected.

But what exactly was she doing here? She had made her decision long ago, but here she was. This was the first time since her supposed demise that she had been able to simply study her child. She was no longer her little girl, but a woman. Her terrible childhood had given birth to a crueler adult life. As a child, her lack of choice had caused her suffering. The older she grew, the more choices she had; yet, the more choices she had, the deeper she dove into sorrow, woe, and torment, greatly because of what Ivanyel had done.

She saw through that creased brow (even in sleep) the tragedy that governed her dreams, waking and silent. The curse ate at her heart even in sweet sleep. The ever-rotting core of the magical whispers that Ivanyel had left to her daughter all those years ago still hung on the victim's shoulders like a heavy cloak of black night when the dawn seems utterly impossible. The oozing burden of fate laid upon her with neither her knowledge nor her consent struck a blade deep into her heart.

She saw the confusion in her fair, sleeping face. She thought her actions were driven by her love and revenge surrounding Murtagh when the true root of her motivation was founded in the whisperings of her grief- and rage-stricken mother. Murtagh was the thread with which her fate was secured. She would never give him up.

She well recalled the final moments when she held her child. She had entered Nora's room on a night not unlike this and stroked her hair until she awoke. She had sat on the bed with the girl cradled comfortably on her warm lap in a rare moment of safety. She had spoken of strength and loyalty, encouraged her to stay by Murtagh, whispered venomous words of Galbatorix, and sung her to sleep. She still remembered her song, full of the hate and torment of their mutual curse. Her child was no longer a child, but the curse was there, ready to fulfill the queen's revenge.

Remorse suddenly welled up in the lady, threatening overcome her in its abruptness. She had done this. If not for her curse, instead of running off into the face of danger, Nora just may have stayed with the Varden and found some other way to save the man she loved; or, without that desperate, driving confidence that Murtagh was hers alone, she would have seen Murtagh as most people did after his reappearance as the king's servant, as a twisted, utter loss not worth trying to save. Ivanyel softly put her hand on her daughter's head as the words of the song returned to her, telling what she saw in the ever-nearing climax of this conflict to seek revenge against the king.

"Each day you grow older  
>Each moment I'm watching my vengeance unfold<br>For the child of my body, the flesh of my soul  
>Will die in returning the birthright he stole…"<p>

There was a noise outside and the elf stole away behind the dressing screen near the washroom door. The door swung open on its oiled hinges and allowed a dark, cloaked figure to enter. It walked to the edge of the bed and stopped, staring down at Lenora. A glint of moonlight revealed his pleased expression – that smirk, that dominating, relaxed stance of victory, that hungry, planning gleam in his eyes. Often had Ivanyel awakened in her own bed during her time in this palace to find him like that.

She had fallen in love with him, yes, without realizing that he was the monster she had been hunting during their first meeting. His charm and vision had made revenge fall to the background. She still didn't know if he had enchanted her with magic. She had returned to the elves to find them uncaring for her new love (she was convinced that Galbatorix was not the man they sought or that he was falsely accused) and soon left to rejoin him. They had gone to a small town and were married with two clueless villagers as witnesses.

They had vowed in the Ancient Language to never live under a separate roof as long as they both lived (or until a True Name changed, which happened for her). In a moment of passion, she made the terrible mistake of swearing her loyalty to him and was so flattered by his gratitude that she failed to see him slip out of doing the same. One morning, she woke up in their small hut in the woods to find him gone (despite not needing sleep, she had gained a liking for resting eyes and allowing her mind to delve within itself to the point of being oblivious to the world). Then he was gone another day. And another. Every time he returned in the evening, he would refuse to answer her questions concerning his whereabouts. She would try to follow him when she sensed him leaving their bed, but he always disappeared. It went on for a few months like this before he suddenly brought her to the castle of a Dragon Rider named Morzan, who had acquired his grand residence under questionable circumstances.

That was when she began to see the plot unfolding before her. Other Riders would arrive at night and meet with her husband behind closed doors, leaving Ivanyel suspiciously in the dark. Another few days and she was finally invited in, only to discover that they were in fact plotting to overthrow the Dragon Riders and assume control over all magicians by first controlling the entire country. Though she had never loved the rule of the Riders over the general population, this plan shocked and disgusted the leader's bride.

Directly after the meeting, Ivanyel had gone to her room and packed a small bag of provisions, determined to warn the Riders, elves, and anyone else who would listen of this plot. In the few moments while she had been gathering her few needed belongings, the door had been locked and the room secured by magic. She had hit the door and shuttered window with chairs, banged on them with her fists, and attempted to simply shatter them with magic. She had scraped her mind against the barriers keeping her from reaching out beyond the confines of the room. Nothing worked.

She didn't know long she was there with the only event each day being food appearing. She thought her husband was sick in the head and making a big mistake; she still had not comprehended his full potential for evil.

Finally, one day, her window shutters flew open, blinding her momentarily with light. The flapping of great wings caught her attention. Galbatorix was outside her window on a great black dragon. His clothes were grand and he wore an expression of utter joy. "Come, my dove," he had said, "and let me show you my new Alagaesia." She had been concerned, frightened, and uncertain, but she knew the only way of getting out of that room was then and on a dragon's back with her crazed spouse.

It was then that she became the secret queen of Alagaesia. Her vows in the Ancient Language kept her living there and her vows of loyalty kept her from killing him once she saw his true nature. It didn't stop her from sending messages to the Varden and helping them in whatever way she could. Even after her True Name eventually changed, Galbatorix's power and her convenient position to help the resistance kept her at bay. Still, she was a prisoner, trapped going to banquets where she was nothing more than a decoration at the king's side, forced to be his confidante, his plaything, and his comforter.

Then came Lenora. She remembered Galbatorix crowing with glee at finding out that she was pregnant. He had an heir to train, to lead astray, and to conquer. As Nora grew and gained her magical abilities, he began her instruction in both magic and, later at age eight, warfare. She was punished severely when she disobeyed him or failed in a task, leaving Ivanyel to be her consoler. Selena, Morzan's wife, was the queen's only anchor.

Becoming a mother strengthened her and made her realize more than ever that Galbatorix needed to be stopped. Even as she nurtured her child and watched her be slowly molded by the king's twisted mind, Ivanyel knew that Nora was the key to stopping her husband. It quickly became clear that Murtagh was Nora's grounding to reality, so he made the perfect addition to a growing plan. So, she began forming a spell to bind Nora to Murtagh and compel her to make the king's demise her ultimate goal.

Her aid for the Varden was eventually discovered, however, and she was driven out with assassins at her heels. Between her magic and the appearance of a large pack of wolves, she had escaped. After she granted them heightened consciousness and the ability to communicate with their minds, the wolves became her constant companions. After that, her abilities, strength, and hatred had only grown.

Perhaps the queen hadn't been thinking clearly when she had placed those spells on Lenora. As she stood there behind the dressing curtain, however, and watched her cursed husband standing over their daughter like a vulture looking at a carcass, the hate returned. If she survived this, Nora would forgive her. Anything to rid the world of that horrible, cocky, war-mongering, power-hungry, heart-stealing wretch.

Unconsciously, her hand had slipped over the dagger at her waist and her heard the distant voices of the wolves, warning her against rash action. She followed their counsel and, after Galbatorix had left, she left her hiding and began to leave. She turned back upon hearing Nora stir and stilled her with a few phrases of her immortal, cursing song.

"Hush, child  
>The darkness will rise from the deep<br>And carry you down into sleep."

* * *

><p>He had dreamt this before, long before he had been recaptured by the Twins, when his heart still belonged to Nora and Nasuada was simply a passing fascination. This time, however, the dream was even more frightening. Part of it had come true.<p>

_He was kneeling in that horrid throne room, defeated with his new master ranting before him, just like he had during the events leading up to Murtagh's escape. But, this time, the king was happy about it. He was going on and on about his future kingdom and the 'insurance' he was about to bring about._

"_I think you will approve," he crowed, his beady black eyes dancing with fitful glee as an invisible door opened to allow a new personage inside the room._

_The woman who entered had voluminous black hair that clashed disconcertingly with the blood-red gown she was wearing. Her fine lips were upturned in a malicious, greedy smirk and her eyes that normally reminded the boy of a chilly winter sky were just as dark as those of the king. Murtagh shook his head, unable to understand why Nora would be standing side-by-side with the man she always swore to destroy, even though she was his prisoner. _

_But then, at the beautiful lady's cue, gray, veiled servants came through the doorway, bringing with them the Varden leader Ajihad, the dwarf king he had killed, the elf Oromis, and Nasuada. The watcher could see shadows of more victims approaching the untraceable light; however, with another signal from Nora, they all stopped and disappeared. Murtagh's heart leapt into his throat as Nasuada made eye contact with him before fading._

_Eventually, Nora became the only solid thing visible. Her leering smugness had disappeared and, in its place, was a sorrowful, heartbroken, loving expression. The rich gown, which had before transformed into a dirty, shredded version of her usual practical getup, remained – a sign of her realistic captivity._

_Kneeling down with him, the girl reached up and ran her fingers through his hair, her touch like the whisper of a dove to the ears. But her eyes remained the same color of haunting midnight. And her voice – a terrible mix of agonizing pain and inexpressible joy._

"_Didn't we swear to not let this happen until he was gone? Why did this happen? How could you let this happen? How can I love you and hate you? How is a heart like a dragon?"_

_Finding his voice, Murtagh said,_

"_Nora, you just have to hold on. Eragon cares for you. Thorn saw him kiss you. I have Nasuada. If we survive this we can move on."_

_Foolish words._

_The playing fingers suddenly gripped his hair with painful strength and her voice hardened as though she was about to enter battle – how it was most of the time._

"_Eragon. Do you think he would switch his affections from Arya to _me_? Really? When will you get it through your thick head: I am alone! How could I hold on when I have nothing to hold on for? Nasuada has you; I have nothing. You were mine." The smile returned and the grip tightened more. "You _will_ be mine. __Remember? Together forever."_

"_Nora…"_

_He couldn't breathe. Cruelty appeared in her eyes as she leaned towards him. As the room darkened, a haunting, angelic voice rippled through his mind, whispering a song he had never heard before, but still knew._

"_Hush, child  
>The darkness will rise from the deep<br>And carry you down into sleep." _

* * *

><p><em>He was back in the throne room, but this time he was curled up on the floor with a stab wound in his abdomen, pain pulsing through his body.<em>_ The king was on his throne ahead of him with Nora standing beside him, and Eragon stood nearby as well, breathing heavily with his blood dripping on the floor. Also present were Arya, a brown-haired elf, a slightly familiar-looking soldier, Thorn and Saphira. But Murtagh was presently looking at Nasuada, who was chained nearby. By being defeated by Eragon, he had lost his chance to win her freedom._

_Suddenly, the king's shout of alarm caused him to look forward._

"_You!" he shouted, grabbing Nora roughly by the throat. The girl had a familiar, dangerous fire in her eyes as she looked away from her captor at Murtagh. She didn't care about herself, only him. Shattering guilt shot through the young man. He didn't know how, but he could have stopped this._

_Glaring back at Galbatorix, Nora spat in his face and growled,_

_"Atra ono deyja medh iet baen unin onr hjarta!" _May you die with my grief in your heart.

_Almost instant a burning, blinding light enveloped Nora from the king. Her eyes wandered to Murtagh one last time before closing, as if to shield themselves from the pain. Galbatorix's cruel smile grew as he tore at his daughter's very soul. Finally, a ripping, agonizing, sobbing scream exploded from the girl's throat._

_In silence, she fell to the floor as Galbatorix released her. Murtagh stared dumbly. She was gone._

* * *

><p>"<em>Your Name, please."<em>

Soaked in sweat, Murtagh shot out of bed, still feeling like the voices and Nora were following him. Looking at his bedside table, where he had placed the pendent, he discovered that it was eerily glowing. When he reached out to grab it, it proved to be scorching hot and ended up landing on the floor.

Something was wrong. Very wrong. Whatever that dream meant, if it was truly a vision, he couldn't let it happen. If Nora was really willing to give her life in order to give him a chance, he had to stop it. She couldn't give in. She couldn't swear loyalty. He wouldn't let her!

"Each day you grow older  
>Each moment I'm watching my vengeance unfold<br>For the child of my body, the flesh of my soul  
>Will die in returning the birthright he stole."<p>

- Heather Dale


	36. Before the Storm

Before the Storm

Having released Nasuada from the manacles so she could walk around, Murtagh simply stood in the middle of the room. It was night, but he seemed restless.

He held Lenora's star pendent in his hand, as if waiting for it to do something.

"Nasuada," he began, "you have helped me in more ways than one. You gave me something to fight for beyond my own life and Nora's life. But…I was confusing protectiveness with...something else. I will still save you, no matter what it takes, but this is a choice I need to make. After this is over, I have a lot to make up with Nora. She has shown me nothing but loyalty and I...I abandoned her and now she's the slave of the king. She swore her loyalty. I felt it...the anguish...she's so bitter."

Nasuada nodded slowly. She didn't know what she had been thinking, that she was in love with another woman's betrothed, tearing them apart. It had been...cruel. Yes, he had been her comfort, but that was probably just desperation and the need for human contact. When they first met, she had been truly fascinated by Murtagh and thought he was dashing and roguish. But, even if Nora wasn't in the picture, it would never work out. He was a rebellious, complicated soul that needed someone like Nora, who had the power and total understanding that Nasuada would never know.

"It has always been you and Nora. No matter what. Something draws the two of you together."

"Not only that, but, if I continued on the path I was following, she would die, despairing and betrayed. She came here for me, but I was blind and now she's suffering for it. I have to fix this...somehow."

* * *

><p>Eragon wandered through the tents of the Lamvarden, who, while they had joined the Varden, still liked to set themselves apart. He had spent a few hours during the night going among the troops, talking to them and attempting to ease any doubts or fears about the coming siege of Uru'baen. His heart should have been light; he had caused dozens of men, women, and children to exchange worry and frowns for optimistic spirits. He had told them that he had a plan and plenty of help to kill the king, that Lenora was still on their side and was prepared to aid them when the time came, and that they would save Nasuada. He was confident in none of these things, but he should have been comforted to know that his people were confident in him.<p>

The Lamvarden were different, however. His words were met with awkward smiles that quickly disappeared as soon as they thought he wasn't looking, wary glances, and unconvincing thanks, as if they didn't believe him. At the moment, he wasn't even bothering trying to talk to the people that walked by beyond a pleasant hello (at least that wasn't awkward).

"You look troubled, Shadeslayer," a woman commented.

Eragon looked around to find Rowena, Ajihad's apparent new lover, sitting between two tents in a chair with her feet propped up on a log near the glowing fire. She had a pile of men's clothing next to her and was presently repairing someone's jerkin. Tired of walking, the Rider sat down on the log, facing Rowena.

"I've been visiting the troops, giving encouragement and hearing their complaints and healing their wounds…but the Lamvarden here are different. My presence seemed to encourage everyone else, but they seem so completely somber!"

Rowena paused in her work, absentmindedly looking around.

"They've known reality too long and too much; they become suspicious when a leader tells them everything will be all right when it won't necessarily be true. Also, they're accustomed to guerrilla tactics, even now with the Varden. In quick strikes, they are confident, but with full scale battles where there is no cover and their best hope is planning on walking right into danger knowingly… They value safety; that's why they left their homes. They see what you're about to do and they know that there's a chance you won't come back. They trust you as a leader, but you are still young and you're still human."

Eragon shook his head. Had they so little faith in him?

"How can I make them understand, then?"

"The problem is that they do understand, Shadeslayer. They understand all too well. I'll talk to them. They can sometimes be almost too realistic, but they have good, loyal hearts and willing arms. They won't let you down."

* * *

><p>About 25 men and women of the Lamvarden were grouped around a large campfire, discussing the coming battle and the most recent news.<p>

"Were you here when Eragon Shadeslayer came by?" a large burly fellow of forty years asked the two closest people, a brown-haired matron and her reedy husband. The woman nodded, but her companion had apparently just arrived. "He tried tellin' us how brave we were to be fightin' here and how lucky he was to have us here…as if we didn't already know. Then, to top it off, he tried consolin' us and tellin' us that we was on the brink of a new age in Alagaesia – that victory would be ours before dinner tomorrow – that he'd make sure everything turned out in the end. Bah!" He spat into the fire. "He might be a Dragon Rider and he may've defeated Urgals and Shades, but who does he think he is to tell us 'everything's gonna be all right'?"

"He meant well," the woman responded, shaking her head, "but, if he's so wise for his age, he should know when his counsel is neither needed nor wanted. We wouldn't be here if we weren't desperate to end Galbatorix's reign. We're here because we know suffering, we've been driven from our homes, and we are willing to risk our lives to stop it. Isn't it obvious that we already have faith in the lad by being here and isn't it obvious that we know there's risk? We don't need to be talked to like children by someone who is barely a man himself. We may not live to see another sunset, but I've made my peace with that."

"Of course you have," a new voice said, joining in the conversation. Rowena appeared beside them at the fire and the others made room for her. The former innkeeper held great weight among their ranks. "We've all made our peace; otherwise, we would flee this place at once. But talking to us, hearing us, and encouraging us not only helps morale for the general population, but also helps him have faith that he can succeed in defeating the king. Seeing our hope gives him something to fight for and it will drive him forward even when all may seem lost. We should consider this not his attempt to help us, but an opportunity to help him prepare for tomorrow."

* * *

><p>The throne room was darker than usual, with only two torches lighting the area around the throne. Murtagh had managed to use the pendent to find its owner, recalling the time it had directed him to the cell that held Nora in Gil'ead. A sniffle alerted him to her exact location. She was alone, sitting on the steps leading up to the imposing seat, cloaked by darkness with her hair in a high bun that left her back and shoulders exposed. He quickly noted that she was wearing a blood red dress frighteningly similar to the one in his dream.<p>

"Nora?" he said quietly. She remained with her head turned away. "Are you all right? I wanted to find you before you did something stupid that you don't have to do."

"What do you mean?" she asked with a ghostly tone, her voice too even.

"I had a vision that…that you swore your loyalty to the king. I don't want you to do it for me and I know you're stronger than that."

"Why would you think I would do it for you?"

"I thought you had feelings for Eragon. I don't know why. I'm sorry."

Why wasn't she looking at him? He went closer.

She snorted a little laugh.

"You're sorry. Now he says it."

"I had a vision that you joined Galbatorix and that you hated me because I was the reason you did it. I dreamed that you died trying to kill the king. I can't let that happen."

"Because you'll be guilty?"

He sat down beside her with her back still turned to him.

"Yes. No! Because…"

"Because it seems to me that you'll be far happier if I just let you be."

"That's not true."

"…says the boy who comforted a practical stranger and left me to my fate."

"I just don't want you to do something stupid."

Fast as lightening, Nora whirled around to give a whip-like slap.

"Don't you_ dare _talk to _me_ about doing something stupid! You have no idea the turmoil I've gone through. You admitted defeat, laughed at others' pain. I fought, I cried, and I have knowingly turned away from the chance at freedom for myself…all for… There's a cost that I…" She stopped herself and looked away again. Strands of hair were beginning to come loose from the bun, but she still looked like a queen, in her own way.

Murtagh had seen the cost she was trying to hide in his vision. He couldn't let it happen…not just for him.

"I've seen that cost, Lenora, and I won't let you do it."

The woman suddenly stood and faced him, shaking her head angrily.

"You don't get it, do you? It's done. The pieces are set and the game is ready to be played. The time for choosing our paths is over and there is no going back. You must protect Nasuada, Eragon must kill the king, and I just help him."

"By dying?! Nora, I won't let you! Why choose to supposedly save me and then push me away? I can help!"

A surge of magical energy sent him flying into the throne, where he found himself pinned by invisible barriers. No matter how hard he tried, there was he could do, physical or magical, to free himself. She swiftly approached, leaned in until their faces were only a few inches apart, and reached her hand up to gently grip his hair, just like in the dream. She seemed to be holding something back. If she wanted, she could have killed him right then and there.

If he could have moved, he could have kissed her…and he actually wanted to. After all their confusion, pain, and separation, they always seemed to come back together. She could have left him to his fate and run to safety or stayed with the Varden, but she had come, knowing her road would end in death. But, if she had come for him, why was she pushing him away now that he had made up his mind? What was this about choices being made?

"You can help, eh?"

"Fates can be rewritten, Nora. We've both seen what this path leads to, but we can change that."

"Can we? Murtagh, I've changed my fate more times than I can count, but it always ends the same way…it just gets delayed. I've had visions over the years of a final conflict with Galbatorix and became accustomed to them because they changed with every major life decision that I made, like fleeing Uru'baen or leaving Carvahall. No matter what I do, I will eventually find myself at odds with my father. I ran from it, but, every time I changed it, it was only delayed a little. I want it over with. I'd rather die now than spend the rest of my life running. _Don't_ get in my way."

With a final pause, she released him and walked quickly but regally out of the room. Still Murtagh spoke as she left:

"Why now? Why not wait until you know you won't die?" No reply. "Nora, I know I betrayed you. Nothing can make up for that. Please, give me..." He stopped himself. He was going to say 'a second chance', but he knew he didn't really deserve to ask for any more chances.

* * *

><p>Nora quietly sobbed as she began jogging toward her room. Her heart was torn in two. She wanted Murtagh for herself, but she wanted this torment of fate to be over; she wanted that singing voice to be gone; and she wanted Murtagh to have someone when she was dead…in order for that to happen, she needed to push him toward Nasuada. It took all willpower to not lean two inches further and kiss the bloody man when she had him under her control. He couldn't fight against her, but she couldn't fight Galbatorix. She wanted it over and she wanted Murtagh safe. This was the time. Besides, she had seen how Nasuada looked at him. They deserved each other.<p>

* * *

><p>It was past midnight. Many people were sleeping and others were meditating, warming themselves at fires, or preparing their armor for the coming day. The elf queen was wandering through the maze of tents belonging to the Varden, contemplating the battle that would soon be upon them. She had already prepared her armor and chose presently to wear just a simple crimson tunic with a soft black cloak.<p>

She had lost much in this war – friends, family, hope – but she had gained the forgiveness of her daughter and the friendship of her niece. Her sensitive ears caught the whetting of a blade in the direction she was heading. The owner turned out to be a black-haired woman in a grey dress sitting outside the witch Angela's tent. Islanzadi stopped in the shadows when the woman pulled her hair back to reveal her features. It was impossible! Anger boiled up within her.

"Who are you to masquerade as my long-dead sister?" the queen demanded after a moment, revealing herself and approaching. Several large wolves appeared seemingly out of nowhere to watch.

"_I am who I appear to be, Islanzadi,_" was the purely truthful reply.

The other elf looked up calmly, sadness touching her green eyes. She was older, more solemn, and had an aura of turmoil about her, but there no doubting that face.

"How can you be telling the truth when I know that my sister died at the hands of Galbatorix years ago?"

She remained still and staring.

"I am Ivanyel. I have hidden myself away in the company of wolves for the past several years. It is I, but time, hardship, and two unforgivable mistakes have changed me deeply."

"What mistakes, sister?"

She still couldn't believe she was actually talking her sibling, but she remained composed.

"I left my daughter and cursed her with my burden."

Suddenly, unable to contain herself, Islanzadi sat down beside the other woman and tightly grasped her hands, kissing them both.

"Tell me everything."

Anger began to build again as the tale unfolded.

* * *

><p>"All right. So, we're going into the palace. What if we run across Murtagh?"<p>

"What do you mean?" Catira asked, blinking curiously.

"I know you're a powerful magician and we both can fight, but, if something happens and we encounter Murtagh…I don't want to kill him. Whatever's happened to him, I'll always see the silent boy running around the castle grounds with the princess."

"He's changed, Eedom. If he gives us no other choice, we have to defend ourselves."

"It's just…I think, since I lost all of my family, I don't like to see other families ripped apart. Even though he and Eragon are technically enemies, they used to be friends and they are blood relatives. I want to see the Eragon and Murtagh reunited as brothers. I know it isn't always perfect with family...but deeper than whatever conflict comes along. No matter if you hate them, you love them too... When you are together, you can take the world..."

Catira was silent for a moment, staring at nothing.

"I fought against Galbatoroix and Forsworn after they rose to power, along with the rest of my kind. I and several other elves were tasked to recapture the Eldunari, the Dragon Hearts, already in Galbatorix's possession. My companions were killed and I was taken captive." She was silent again. "One of my companions…was my brother. I know what it is like to take on the world with your family. You're unstoppable…until you discover that the world is cruel and will crush any light it sees, with time. We should not concern ourselves with Murtagh, however. He will certainly be tracking Eragon and Eragon alone. Our concern is with Nora."

"Wait. Shouldn't we tell Eragon that we're going with him?"

"No, because we are not going with them."

"Then how are we getting in? Listen, I'm trying to be supportive by helping you save Lenora and there is safety in numbers, meaning your goal will be easier…right?"

"Eedom…sometimes, you can be so thick."

"Why? Is there something I'm missing? If you're thinking of using magic, remember I'm still a rookie."

"The king could probably sense any significant amount of magic used in there, so no."

"Then how?"

"Palace servants know all of the secret entrances – 'see and not be seen' is their motto."

"Then…why don't we tell Eragon if it's so safe that we don't actually need him?"

"Because he's bringing practically a dozen elves, a child, and a dragon. That's a little too conspicuous for this route. I can only get one other person through, especially with the present circumstances."

"Whatever you say."

* * *

><p>Murtagh stormed into the throne room where Galbatorix was lounging on his throne alone, having wandered the halls for about an hour.<p>

"What did you do?" the lad growled, stopping in front of the king. "Why did Nora swear loyalty to you? She hates you."

"Is it that obvious." Galbatorix tsked. "I may have to remedy that."

"Don't you touch her!"

"I thought you didn't care about my daughter anymore, Murtagh. You have your new pet." Murtagh tensed. He knew about Nasuada! "Honestly, Murtagh, even you can only handle one woman. Don't overwhelm yourself."

Murtagh contained a growl.

"Release Nora from her vow."

"Why?"

"I had a vision of her death because of it."

"Even if that is true, the better for me. If her vow causes her death, then she will be giving her life for a good cause."

"But she's your heir. Your daughter!"

"Indeed. You have lost my trust, Murtagh. Though it pains me, it will be a while before I can grant any request. You will have to do something…special."

"Like what?"

"Like defeat Eragon. That would perhaps ensure the release of at least one of your heartthrobs."

A/N: Yet another chapter that originally was one and is turning into more than that... Thank you for all of your support and please be patient with me for the next few weeks. I have midterms and a choir tour coming up faster than I would like.


	37. The King Must Die

The King Must Die

"Eedom."

Eedom jumped nearly a foot in the air and whirled around to glare at Catira.

"_Don't _sneak up on me like that!"

"Sorry. Elf. Now, be quiet! I was able to magically disguise both of us as servants, but it won't do if we act more suspicious than necessary."

"Why do you think there's no one around?"

"Most of the servants are probably hiding or doing more specific jobs to ready themselves for battle and incoming wounded. They all at least know how to stop a bleeding cut or soothe a burn."

"Well, if you're done checking the area for extra traps, can we go? I'm getting a crick in my neck from looking over my shoulder constantly."

"Sure. We should be able to get there within the hour. Lenora's quarters are on the third floor on the opposite end of the palace, but we won't have to make any detours."

Looking over his shoulder again at the spookily empty kitchen, Eedom followed Cat down the dim black hall with cautious footsteps.

* * *

><p>Nora's hand hovered over one of the dresses in her closet. It was long, sleek, and blood red, just like the one she saw herself dying in in her dreams. She gripped its sleeve tightly, as if to channel the shock of emotion that had suddenly manifested itself into the cloth.<p>

In one swift movement, she snatched a different frock, a soft, slim, knee-length green dress with a dusty grey, sleeveless over-dress. Just because she was facing her fate didn't mean that she had to be a puppet. Even the smallest thing could change the future for the better.

Having dressed, Nora went to the window and looked out at the city numbly. Fires were burning everywhere and the people below were in an uproar. The tinkling of metal against metal and the grand booming of explosions was a constant. As she stared, helpless, she thought of what was soon to come, just as Galbatorix had predicted. He had told her to stop the intruders she found and to defend her king. He said to stop the first people that came down the hall when she left her room. Well…no reason to put off the inevitable.

* * *

><p>"Are you sure we're in the right hall?" Eedom growled.<p>

Suddenly, Nora emerged from a room at the end of the passage.

"Does that answer your question? Nora, where have you been? We're here to help!"

The was no facial reaction from the princess, but she instead sent a surge of power that knocked the rescue duo backwards.

"Well, that's no way to greet old friends!" the man retorted, enchanting a silver shield around himself and Catira as the elf sent her own shock back down the hallway.

The shock evaporated before it reached Nora and she walked closer, sending constant waves of green and red that slowly drove them backwards toward the far wall. She still hadn't said a word.

"Lenora, this has gone on long enough!"

At last, one of the blasts broke through Eedom's shield and sent him smashing into the stone wall. Over and over again, they were crushed against the rock. He lost count of the times his body was used as a human cannonball.

Then, it stopped. Eedom could hear the creaking of his bones and his own ragged breathing louder than anything else. As he moved to lift himself onto his hands and knees, the blood started pounding deafeningly in his ears. A second later, he caught sight of Catira beside him, motionless.

Eedom's hand shook as he gently turned the unconscious elf onto her back. She was covered in bruises and had a bleeding cut on her temple, thanks to being hurled against the wall a dozen times. He paused to cough, which resulted in his sleeve being splattered with more blood. His own beating had had some nasty aftereffects of their own. Cold stone was not a friendly landing when you were being magically thrown across a room. So much for helping.

"I'm sorry, Eedom," Nora said from twenty feet away. She didn't come to help, but he knew that she was genuinely concerned. "I don't have a choice."

"We all have a choice, Lenora," he replied, using his exhausted ability to heal Catira's major injuries. He couldn't help but feel angry. "You chose to betray the Varden."

"You have to understand – I didn't betray the Varden. This is my way of fighting the good fight. I swore to defend Galbatorix…" Eedom closed his eyes as he heard her approach. He tensed upon sensing her kneeling down. If she had sworn loyalty… Instead of more pain, he felt a light hand on his head and, soon, most of his pain gradually disappeared. Kneeling down, Nora did the same for Cat, who remained unconscious. "I didn't say how long I would defend him. Eedom, you have to get Cat out of here. This is my battle."

"You don't have to fight alone, Nora. Why do you think we came? Now wake the elf up and let's go kill the king!"

The girl looked sad for a brief moment.

"So brave…but this is my lot. You will only get hurt."

Silently, Nora turned and walked down the spiraling stairs. Eedom instantly turned back to Catira.

"Come on. Wake up, Cat! I think our girl is going to do something stupid."

The elf's eyes remained shut.

* * *

><p>Ivanyel shot out of a knot of enemy soldiers, killing all in her path to reach her overpowered sibling. Her foe was dead, but Ivanyel could sense the queen's life ebbing away. Placing a hasty barrier around herself to protect them, she gently cradled Islanzadi in her arms. Her sister was limp.<p>

Only hours before, they had been reunited and told each other everything that had occurred during their parting. They had both done regrettable things, but Ivanyel was well aware that hers was far worse. Islanzadi had grudgingly set aside any show of anger concerning the younger sister's weakness, lust for revenge, and cruelty towards her clueless child. It was obvious, however, that, had their lives not been in such immediate danger, she would have given Ivanyel a lengthy lecture and a significant lack of trust. A mother who truly cared for her daughter would never do such a thing. Ivanyel realized now that her blinded anger had manifested itself in using her daughter as a tool.

"Your Majesty does not have permission to die," the younger elf growled as Islanzadi's eyes fluttered open a little. Even in dying, she seemed so grand and elegant.

"You know what you have to do, sister."

Those were the elf queen's last words. A group of Imperial soldiers converged on them as Ivanyel's anger boiled over and she lashed out with a reverberating magical explosion that flattening half of them. After this street was cleared, she intended to face her husband and change her daughter's fate…if she wasn't too late.

* * *

><p><em>"And to Eragon goes the victory."<em>

Eragon had defeated Murtagh in battle by stabbing him in the side, which the older hadn't been happy about at all. For a few seconds after Galbatorix had congratulated Eragon on winning, he had looked at both Nora and Nasuada with a sense of longing and loss. Apparently, he had been trying to win favor to save at least one of them. Then, Murtagh, whose Name had apparently changed, was able to strike out against the king by using the name of all names and strip him of his primary shields. It hadn't worked out as smoothly as hoped. Galbatorix had frozen all of them in place and was now stabbing at Eragon's mind with just as much cruelty and power as before.

"Submit," the tyrant crooned for the third or fourth time. Finally, he seemed to notice his daughter, who had been standing beside the throne since the middle of the brothers' fight; she had seemed quite...distraught. "Lenora, tell our young friend how glorious his life will be once he's on our side."

For a moment, there was silence. Galbatorix was staring intensely at his victim, the children were cowering in the corner, Nora was standing like a statue beside the throne, and everyone else was held in place by magic.

Finally, quietly...

"No."

The assault on Eragon mind paused, leaving him gasping for air, as Galbatorix turned and walked slowly back to his seat, beady eyes boring into his daughter, who calmly looked back at him.

"What do you mean by…no?"

"Nora," Murtagh pleaded quietly, going silent with a motion from the king.

Nora wasn't fazed. Her voice was even and her demeanor was relaxed. She merely pressed her lips together as a sign of mild displeasure.

"Father, you know it was always coming to this. Ever since I was a child, something was driving me to defy you and to see you dead, even if it cost my life. This is that moment when you will die. You killed my mother and you enslaved Murtagh." A slight strain in her face indicated that she was now multitasking with a mental battle. "You took away my childhood and my hope. You have taken enough."

"You were my heir!" the king snarled angrily. "You were to be at my side until it was your time."

"I was to be your puppet. Fate had a different plan. I was always destined to defy you, no matter what I thought or felt over the years. The fact is that I hate you with all my heart. I want you dead. Now. Today. You will touch neither Murtagh nor Nasuada and at least someone will have a happy ending in all of this."

A pulse of power in fire and wind, as if the heavens themselves were driving down to earth, fell upon Galbatorix. Eragon could sense its magnitude. It should have pulverized both opponents, but it simply dissipated.

"You!" Smiling cruelly, Galbatorix reached out towards with lightening quickness. She seemed to now be held motionless as well. Eragon's heart leapt into his throat as the scene for which he knew the ending passed before his eyes. With his daughter paralyzed, the tyrant calmly and almost tenderly gripped his hand around her throat just enough to cause discomfort. Nora glared back spitefully, trembling even with her determination. As if looking for encouragement, her eyes strained to gaze upon Murtagh, who watched with an expression of agonized desperation. "Now, my daughter, you will die."

"_Atra ono deyja medh iet baen unin onr hjarta!_" May you die with my grief in your heart.

"_I_ plan on living forever."

With one last sneer Galbatorix produced a wordless spell that caused a blast of putrid black fire to envelop the princess. A piercing scream that should never have left human lips filled the space and rang out until Eragon's head hurt. Rather than stopping after a few seconds, it just went on and on without end. The duo had been swallowed by the fire and smoke, so he couldn't see what happening, only hear his friend's torment and know that he could do nothing.

"Galbatorix!" a powerful voice boomed, overpowering even Nora's scream. Eragon couldn't turn to see who was speaking, but it stunned Galbatorix to the point of releasing his spell and allowing Nora to collapse on the floor with a resounding thump.

"You're supposed to be dead!"

"Was I? You know those wolves that you forced to capture Lenora a while back? Those were _my _wolves. Didn't you ever wonder who Wolfsister was? Did you really think it would be that easy to get rid of me?"

"You betrayed me!"

"You betrayed _me_. I'm alive and well, so you still have a wife. Although, under the circumstances, Husband…" At this point, the woman had approached the throne. It was Ivanyel. This lady was grand and queenly in her armor of shining silver and leather. Somehow, she had broken through the king's magical barriers and teleported directly into the hall. "…I want to inform that our marriage union…" She drew her elven sword pointedly. "…is dissolved."

"I thought I already made that clear when I sent my assassins after you, Ivanyel."

"What have you done to my daughter, Galbatorix?"

"You don't know? Not so powerful after all, are you, my queen?"

Sneering at the tease, the elf swiftly closed the distance between them and lashed out with her weapon. The sound of metal against metal penetrated every corner of the hall as they entered vicious combat. Unlike Eragon and Murtagh's battle, this one was seeking nothing but death. The couple seemed evenly matched, overall; while Galbatorix did not have his wife's elvish swiftness and agility, Ivanyel's years in exile had obviously resulted in a slightly more human combat ability. Neither used magic. Their years together had taught them their weaknesses and how to block each other's styles of attack.

For several minutes, their was no movement but that of Galbatorix and Ivanyel's swords colliding in constant rhythm.

While this was happening, Nora's last words abruptly hit the Rider with an idea. To die with her grief. What if Galbatorix knew all the pain he had caused…not just for Nora, but for every single person in the land, every person he killed or maimed or stole from or tortured? Every last thing. He wanted Galbatorix to understand. Without really thinking of any words, Eragon began to desperately form his spell. Realizing what he was doing, the Eldunari added their effort, building upon the boy's idea and expanding it beyond anything he had ever imagined doing. The magic weaved in those moments was becoming one of the grandest performances in history.

To understand. To know another person's grief. It was a terrible burden that all people had to know...and it was the king's turn to see it.

* * *

><p>While Ivanyel and Galbatorix were locked in physical battle and Eragon and the king were battling with their minds, Murtagh dragged himself to where Nora was prone on the throne steps. Despite the weakness caused by his stab wound, he gently gripped her arms and pulled her out of the way, near the stone where Nasuada was still chained. As he cradled her in his arms, her eyes fluttered open, though they instantly threatened to close again. Her voice was nothing more than a breath of a whisper that he could barely hear over the fighting.<p>

"I did it all for you. All of it."

Galbatorix's shocked scream suddenly rang out, nearly deafening him.

* * *

><p>Darkness and silence enveloped Eragon. After pulling himself and the others to safety, the explosion had blocked out all sign of life. He could still breath, but the air was stale and, when he tried to move, he could feel the strain on his protective spell. He could sense that his companions were alive, though Elva and Nora were unconscious and Murtagh was almost so.<p>

"**We cannot maintain this spell for much longer," **the invisible dragon Umaroth warned him.

"**You have to," **he shot back. "**If you don't, we'll die."**

Without warning, light and sound suddenly exploded onto his senses as Arya cleared the debris that had apparently landed on top of several of their members. The walls were all either cracked or already collapsed and the ceiling seemed intent on crashing down on them at any moment. After some difficulty, Murtagh appeared for a brief moment to undo Nasuada's shackles, using the name of all names, and warn Eragon to take care of her before slipping away again. Not questioning it, Eragon slowly moved Nasuada onto the waiting Thorn. Rocks from the ceiling were now beginning to rain down on them. Finally, he had Elva and the two children that Galbatorix had been using as human shields on Saphira; however, Arya suddenly called to Murtagh,

"Wait! Where is the egg? And the Eldunari? We can't leave them!"

The other man frowned but apparently gave the information, upon which the elf sprinted to a door on the opposite side of the room.

"It's too dangerous!" Eragon protested. "This place is falling apart! Arya!"

"**Go. Get the children to safety. Go! You haven't much time!"**

The lad paused, frozen in his place from indecision. He wanted more than anything to run after her and help her, if not drag her back kicking and screaming.

"Eragon!" the Rider heard someone call out. Murtagh had reappeared, carrying a still-unconscious Lenora in his arms, despite his injury. Panic reflected in his dark eyes. "I need your help. Something's wrong!"

"Murtagh we'll take care of it soon. If we don't get out of here now, we're all dead."

"Obviously, brother," was the stinging reply as Murtagh lifted Nora onto Thorn, "but I don't think white skin and blue lips are a very good sign…especially when magic can't seem to touch it."

Eragon was genuinely concerned as he situated himself with his passengers. Murtagh was settled with Nora cradled in his arms and Nasuada behind him with her arms around his waist.

"I'll see what I can do."

"What's happening?" Elva suddenly asked, waking up.

"We're leaving. Hold on."

As they maneuvered around the glowing crater in the floor where the king had been, the Rider reached out to touch Nora's mind. As he did so, however, he ran across a sort of barrier or, rather, a field of nothingness. It was as if her consciousness wasn't even there. He could feel that her body was weak and perhaps even on the point of death, but he couldn't see why.

"She's in a dark place," Elva said, cringing just before a boulder crashed down beside them from the roof. "I don't know what has happened, but I sense…emptiness, darkness."

Eragon's eyes seemed to go out of focus all of a sudden. Was Nora dying? She couldn't! Not when they were so close to being done with this.

Murtagh held on to the girl tightly, his jaw stiff and his brow furrowed, while Nasuada's eyes flashed between exhausted relief and glancing at the couple in front of her with a sort of guilty longing. What had transpired here?

Sorry if some of the scenes seemed short! I'll try to get the next chapter out soon. I think I am finally on the last two. For those of you who, like me, didn't like the original ending of the books, have patience. ;)


	38. Empty

Empty

Murtagh stood just inside the tent where Nora was being kept, having shooed Angela away for her first meal in two days. Two days and Nora had yet to wake up. Nasuada had tried to console him at first, but, today, he could barely look at her. His short time of foolishness, of thinking that Nora was invincible and didn't care for him, had cost her bitterly. Ivanyel and Angela refused to tell him what had been done to her when Galbatorix had performed that spell while she was in his grasp. Magic wouldn't touch it, so he felt...helpless.

He tried several times to touch her mind, to comfort her and tell her to wake up, but, when he accessed her thoughts, they were worthlessly confusing. In her mind, he found himself standing in a wide, dark space filled with fog or simply darkness with an overwhelming sense of desperation – it wasn't desperation to escape the dark and return to the world of the living…it was reaching for something deeper within her mind that he knew wasn't even there. Very disturbing.

He remembered those moments after the king attacked her when, after dragging her to safety, he thought she was dead. She had barely been breathing, her face was white, and her lips were blue. His heart had stopped. Lying there now, she was still pale and her breathing was shallow, but at least he knew she was alive.

Brow furrowed with concern, Murtagh stepped closer and sat down on the chair at Nora's bedside. Still staring at his former betrothed, he untied the star pendant from around his neck and put it in the palm of her limp hand. He didn't deserve to keep it. His heart leapt into his throat when her fingers closed around the star, but she went still again. For a few more minutes, the man looked down at his best friend with a tortured expression. His blindness had done this. She could die in the next day when he could have stopped by simply being there when she needed him. They had relied on each other since childhood and she had counted on that trust to remain. He had failed her. There was so much he wanted to apologize for and say.

Finally, Murtagh turned and left, swearing that he would never love another woman, whether or not Nora lived.

* * *

><p>Catira, sitting and making a wood carving, watched Murtagh leave Nora's tent with head hanging. Seeing that it was her turn visit, she leapt up and ran into the shelter, half expecting Nora to be awake and complaining that she wanted to be out of bed. She was disappointed to find that the princess was still unconscious.<p>

After their conflict with Nora where Cat had blacked out, Eedom apparently spent nearly five solid minutes trying to wake her up before finally resigning himself to carrying her back out. It seemed that, while healing her, Nora had placed a spell that kept the elf unconscious and would force Eedom to turn back. The couple had made it out just before their escape collapsed and, seconds later, Catira had awakened in perfect condition. She was angry that she hadn't been able to help her friend, but thrilled that that friend had ultimately chosen the good path. Unfortunately, her fate was now uncertain.

Catira, Murtagh, Arya, Eragon, Ivanyel, and Angela had tried for hours in shifts to find a way to heal the princess when they weren't attending to the other wounded. Nothing had worked. She just stayed there, not caring about anything in the world. All they could do now was wait. The new leadership of the country was soon to be chosen, along with the destiny of the land. She hoped Lenora would be with them to see the dawn of the new age of hope.

"_Come back to us,_" she whispered, slipping back outside.

* * *

><p>"I'm dead."<p>

Nora stared up at the two women at her bedside, as she had been doing for the past minute.

"No, dear, you're not dead, though you were close enough," Angela clucked, checking the girl's pulse. "Murtagh and the others will certainly be thrilled."

"No! Don't tell anyone, Angela. I don't want to be smothered. And I have a ghost to deal with," she said quietly, looking at Ivanyel while Angela poured her some herbal tea. "Who are you? I know you're not who you appear to be. My mother is dead and certainly did not have a twin."

Ivanyel, actually unsure of how to proceed, remained standing and relatively dispassionate. Angela, noticing her silence, spoke up again, though her words rather irked the elf.

"I'll leave you two alone. They're having a meeting concerning who should replace Galbatorix. Don't worry, Nora, I won't tell anyone you woke up until you want me to do so."

Nora was still staring at Ivanyel when they were left together. She was now sitting up with her arms crossed. Her eyes were narrow and suspicious.

"You are not my mother."

"Why is that?"

"My mother loved me and comforted me even when I had the slightest hurt. She would not have abandoned me unless she was dead."

"Your mother cursed you."

The news didn't faze her.

"Apparently someone did. I thought I was going crazy for a while, but I finally realized that something other than just my loyalty to Murtagh was driving my actions. I could have overcome him and freed him rather than allowed him to capture me and take me to Uru'baen…where I could be close to the king. I had visions of how the king would be defeated, always with me involved. I knew it was my fate to stop him somehow. I was simply the bait that allowed Eragon the time to think of his own curse. Still, my mother wouldn't have done that."

"_Yes, she did,_" Ivanyel countered softly in the Ancient language, finally sitting in the bedside chair. "_It is I._"

Nora looked defiant for another moment, but she couldn't deny the truth of the Ancient language.

Some time passed in silence...it could have been fifteen minutes.

"Why?"

"I was filled with hatred and a desire for revenge. Galbatorix had stolen my heart and tricked me into swearing loyalty to him before revealing his true nature. He and his servant Morzan were responsible for destroying the lives of thousands throughout Alagaesia. They forced my people into hiding and made me an outcast, a ghost. My best friend Selena had died while still a slave to them, and our children were slaves as well. He had to be stopped and the best way to do that was from the inside. I knew that I would not necessarily be needed for much longer and you were his heir. You had already endured so much even as a child and already wanted him gone. I was simply…consumed. There is no apology worthy of that."

"No kidding?" She seemed to suddenly forget about the topic completely. "I've lost everything. I've lost Murtagh to that…woman! He loves her."

"What makes you think that? He seemed quite concerned about you."

"I saw them…I think he was…they said…" She couldn't seem to remember. "He left my pendant here, the one that helps him find me. If he doesn't want it anymore, then…" She seemed to lose her train of thought again. Her eyes wandered. "I can't feel him…"

Ivanyel, sensing something was wrong, leaned forward in her seat and talked very calmly.

"Lenora…can you summon that cup of water on the table? Just to be sure."

Nora looked confused for a moment and stared intently at the cup. She looked puzzled.

"_Reisa_," she said after a moment. Nothing happened. "_Reisa adurna_." Nothing. "_Gath sem adurna un lam iet_!" With wide, panicky eyes, Nora looked back at her mother. "I can't even feel the magic. It's like…it's like it doesn't even exist! What happened?"

"What do you remember?"

The girl stared at the wall, mouth hanging open.

"I remember being an idiot and trying to kill my father with magic…but it didn't do anything and he grabbed me by the throat. I remember pain, but I don't know why."

"A few moments after that was when I arrived and stopped Galbatorix from hurting you more than he already had. You may have lost your mind or life entirely after only a few more seconds of…whatever he was doing to cause that…light…"

"But why can't I use magic? When will my abilities return?"

Ivanyel hated telling her daughter this, but, if it didn't come from her, the heartbreak would only be put off a little.

"They won't. I don't sense any magic in you."

Nora was speechless and still for a moment. Her eyes filled with tears.

"As in…never? Do you mean I'll never be able to use magic again?"

"You may be able to sense others' magic or speak with your mind; I don't know the full extent of the…damage. It seems as though Galbatorix simply sifted away the magical part of you."

"But…magic was part of who I was. It was ingrained into my very character and my very soul. How?"

"I know not."

Nora stared at nothing again. She seemed to be deciding something, but her mother didn't expect what was coming.

"Tell them I died."

"What? Why?"

"Just do it! I have to leave. I can't do this. I can't take it! I need time and I need it with no one to worry about me. And I need it now."

"But… You want me to tell Murtagh of course."

"No! Without magic, I'm nothing more than an empty shell of who I was. I'm nothing!"

"Lenora, that's not..."

"Don't question me. You have no right to question this. You don't know. I am dead to everyone but you and Angela. Tell them now."

"Are you sure? Completely? They will be crushed."

"Dead!"

The woman slowly bowed her head. Nora's eyes were shining with a mix of determination and agony.

"I have shielded your presence from those outside so no one can see that you're actually alive."

"Thank you."

* * *

><p>Upon exiting the tent, Ivanyel found several individuals, namely Murtagh, Angela, Arya, Eragon, Eedom, and Catira, waiting in the area for news. They quickly gathered. Eragon was the first to speak.<p>

"Is she awake? Nasuada is to be queen, but we all thought that it was only right that Nora get some sort of inheritance from her father. Can I go tell her?"

Ivanyel put on a mild look of what she thought would translate as grief.

"She knew you were all safe." The elf female looked straight at Murtagh with those deep, piercing eyes. "She had nothing more to live for."

Shocked murmurs and bowed heads of sadness met this announcement. Angela, obviously confused, gave Ivanyel a pointed look that said, 'I'm asking later' before walking away. Murtagh was furious.

"What do you mean 'she had nothing to live for'?"

"Just what I said." She had to be cold to pull this off. She had destroyed her child's life; the least she could do was follow her one wish. "She held on long enough to discover your fates, but the king's spell finally took its toll."

Fire burning in his eyes, the boy stepped forward toward the tent, but Ivanyel firmly grabbed him by the arm and easily forced him back. He would probably have a nice bruise the next day.

"Let me through!"

"I have disposed of her body in my own way. As her mother, I have the right."

"You abandoned her!" he growled in her face. "You have no more of a right than I do."

With that, he stormed away. Eragon slowly walked after him; Arya and Catira remained with their heads bowed; and, after lingering a moment longer, Eedom departed after the other males.

Ivanyel returned to the tent where Nora was sitting on the bed, fully clothed in black leggings and a green tunic and looking very set. The elf sat down in the chair and poured some more tea for both of them.

"They are distraught, understandably. Murtagh would have rushed in here, but I told them that I had taken care of your body in my own fashion."

"How did you say I died?"

"I said that the king's spell had finally taken its toll. Their imaginations can cook up the details," Ivanyel stated casually before allowing herself to feel true sympathy. Her daughter was making a decision now that she herself had made at a much older age. "Do you want me to tell anyone the truth? Murtagh was your betrothed."

"He is also the reason I'm doing this. I'm broken, Mother. I found I have gaps in my memory a mile wide, I can't use magic, Nasuada loves him, and I don't even remember ever kissing him; so, the best thing for everyone is if I just leave. He has his own troubles to worry about without worrying about mine. Nasuada is strong. She helped him change in Uru'baen and she can help him continue to improve. Two broken spirits can't mend each other; otherwise, we would be in a very different position. I feel…empty…as if there's something missing (something big) that I just can't see yet…something more than the magic. Time to myself will give me the chance to find out what happened to me. I can't afford to stay."

"Angela already knows, but…what of Catira, Eragon, or Arya?"

"Arya has a right to know, as does Cat. But Eragon has enough on his shoulders. Perhaps one day, but not yet."

"Are there any other reasons?"

Nora closed her eyes, as if seeing a vision she didn't want to remember.

"When I was unconscious, I wasn't aware of anyone or anything. I was just floating in an endless, foggy blackness where I couldn't hear, feel, or see anything. I thought I was dead. Even when I followed that spark of light that somehow led me back, I thought death was going somewhere. I was on that edge that most people don't survive.

"It scares me more than I ever thought it would to think that that darkness is all that will be my reward upon my true death. I live a good life for others, yes, but I'd like to think that it matters, in the end, for me too. I see you and me and I think of how our lives may be just…pointless. All the pain we endured…could we have just died and not cared because we ceased to exist? I feel that, if I don't escape this…shadow…I can never live a normal life. I need time. I need to know what my purpose in life is."

Ivanyel sipped her tea. She left her daughter when the girl was nine and she had had only really known Islanzadi as a child. She never imagined Nora would see her and be this traumatized by her experience…with death itself to weigh on her memory. She wasn't quite sure how to proceed with this conversation. She couldn't exactly counsel her about Murtagh since she barely knew anything about the details of the Nasuada/Murtagh/Nora love triangle that apparently appeared in Uru'baen. Realizing that she was holding the star pendant she had given to Nora all those years ago, however, the elf suddenly had an idea. If she played it right…

"Is there anything else you wish to speak of before nightfall?"

Lenora seemed to be in an equally awkward position. She had seemingly gone from shock to anger to confusion to sorrow to understanding upon seeing her mother. She didn't seem to know how to act or talk.

"Um…did you know that I saved a unicorn when I was thirteen?"

* * *

><p>"I heard about Lenora. I'm sorry," Rowena said quietly from behind Catira, who was blankly watching the orphan girl Eva play fetch with Eedom's dog. "She was important to many people and she'll be missed terribly."<p>

The elf was silence for a moment, looking troubled.

"A while ago, we discussed my taking Eva as my apprentice."

"In this new world, elf, she needs the love of a mother, not just the guidance of a trainer."

"I'm going to adopt her. Eedom and I are to be wed within the year and, while nothing is certain concerning the lives we'll lead, we will give her all the love _and _guidance a daughter could ever want or need. Assuming that you don't decide to stand in my way, I am taking her. The new leadership plans to control the magic in the world…I don't know what extent that will reach, but I want Eva to learn without political petties to worry about."

Rowena knew that, if she did want to stop Catira, she was powerless compared to the elf. Even so, she was giving the matron a choice and putting her in power over the situation.

"I'm sure Eva will be thrilled by the news."

"Don't make her come until she's ready. This is her choice too."

* * *

><p>Nasuada, the new queen of Alagaesia, looked up from her desk as Eragon entered the spacious room.<p>

"What does Nora say of my offer?"

It was generous. Anyone would admit that. She was offering Lenora a grand estate with a large amount of land and a great mansion, as well as a significant sum of money drawn from Galbatorix's treasury.

Eragon's mournful face, however, spoke of ill news before the words even came out of his mouth.

"She's dead."

Nasuada dropped her pen.

"What!"

"Ivanyel said that Galbatorix's spell had some delayed effect that she couldn't fight anymore."

"We will have a funeral, then."

"Ivanyel said she disposed of the body…"

There was a slight pause. Nasuada knew that Nora had given up her claim on Murtagh so her rival could be with him. Now, Murtagh was leaving and Nora was dead. Her sacrifice would be for nothing.

"Tonight shall be a night of mourning, then, for all our dead, but especially for Lenora."

* * *

><p>(AN: I know I haven't done this in a while… I used The Wailin' Jennys' version of "The Parting Glass" as a background for this last scene. Put it on repeat, if you like.)

"**Come, Garmdautr. If you wish to leave, now is the time."**

Nora looked at the wolves ahead of her, her eyes empty. Just as her mother disappeared when everyone thought she was dead and traveled with the wolves, she was leaving with the very same pack now.

The woman looked back at the camp one last time, her heart screaming at her to go back. Everything she had done and it had come to this. She had watched Murtagh for a few moments, hidden in the darkness of the moonless night. He looked so sad, but he deserved to have Nasuada, someone who could watch over him…someone who wasn't broken.

The former princess had gaps in her memory a mile wide. She only remembered flashes of her childhood, mostly having to do with Murtagh and her mother; she remembered nothing of the place her mother identified as Carvahall, nor of ever going to the elf capital at any point in her life. She remembered caring for Murtagh more than anything, but whether he had ever truly indicated the same, she knew not. Murtagh had said something about her breaking a mirror before she left Uru'baen and them flirting while sparring in the great dwarf city, but these did not stir any memory. Physically, she could only guess what her father did to her before he died. She only remembered seconds of that scene and had dreamt of it a few times. Pain and realization that she needed to leave Murtagh to lead his own life of choosing. She wasn't for him.

She had sacrificed her memory and her life for the world, Murtagh, and herself to be free. Fate was cruel. Fate. _Wyrda._ That word etched into her shoulder hadn't stopped burning since she woke up, as if it wanted to be a constant reminder of why she was here.

_Water. Food. Pain. That was all she could think about. Time didn't matter anymore since she had no idea how long she had been stuck in that dark, moist, cold dungeon. She hadn't seen anyone since Durza threw her in that cell for food or even simple company. Galbatorix hadn't even come to gloat. _

_Her head ached and she couldn't feel her shoulder anymore where her father had used the dagger to carve whatever brand had taken his fancy at the moment. The wound itself had gone numb, while the rest of her body had taken on a feverish chill that seemed to sap her strength away even as the seconds passed. _

"_Nora?"_

_The princess didn't know if she had the strength to reply, but that whispering voice urged her to gather her fading strength._

"_Murtagh, is it you?"_

"_It's me."_

_She felt his hand enclosed around hers._

He had been there for her. He cared for her, but she had to make this sacrifice for both their sakes. She was just as traumatized as he was, if not more so. This would be her ultimate sacrifice: giving up Murtagh.

Adjusting her backpack, Lenora followed the wolves towards the wilderness. The sun was just beginning to rise, causing a warm glow to fill the sky…full of hope. Perhaps they would go to Surda or north to some undiscovered country. Perhaps her story would be told. Perhaps, now, she would become the story parents would tell their children of the wolf-lady who kidnapped boys and girls who didn't go to bed when they were told. Perhaps rumors of a woman running with wolves and saving random folks in need on the road would give a more heroic memory.

One way or the other, she would be remembered by those who used to know her. Murtagh, Eragon, Catira, Eedom, Arya, and Angela would certainly feel the loss of her presence. But they had lost so many on this journey – Islanzadi, Brom, Oromis, Glaedr, and so many others! Yes, this was for the best. Despite her living, her part in the story was over. She needed to go.

The Legend of the Wolf's Daughter. She liked the sound of that.

They would be happy.

Into the sun she walked.

It was all worth it.

* * *

><p>"The elves are asking us to return to Ellesmera within the next few days. We're taking the green dragon Egg with us," Arya stated, coming upon the other elf sitting silently outside her tent. She took a seat beside her companion, something apparently on her mind. "Ivanyel, what was my mother like when she was younger."<p>

Not paying attention to what her motherless niece was saying, Ivanyel decisively reached out with her mind as Murtagh flew away on Thorn for his self-imposed banishment. She knew she was hard-hearted, but this outcome had ultimately been her fault. She had to do something!

**"Red Rider, when you feel alone in your exile, look for the wolves."**

Just before she broke the connection, she sensed his confusion. Perhaps this story would not end so tragically, after all.

Collecting herself, Ivanyel finally spoke.

"You mother, Arya, was my closest friend in our youth..."

* * *

><p>Uneasy from Ivanyel's ghostly message, Murtagh ran his hand along Thorn's side until it gripped the edge of the saddle. Suddenly, he felt something wedged between the creases of the padding and pulled it out.<p>

"**What is it, small one?" **Thorn asked, sensing his Rider's unease.

Murtagh clenched the item in his fist until the points drew blood. It was Nora's pendant that he had returned. His jaw tensed with anger and confusion.

"**I think we were lied to, Thorn. I think Ivanyel lied to us."**

"**Perhaps she simply put it there so you could have something by which to remember her daughter."**

"**Maybe, but…she said to look for the wolves. What could she have meant?"**

"**Maybe she's trying to help."**

"**Help what? How?"**

"**Murtagh…perhaps we will see Lenora again one day."**

"Oh all the money that e'er I spent  
>I spent it in good company<br>And all the harm that e'er I've done  
>Alas, it was to none but me And all the harm that e'er I've done<br>Alas, it was to none but me  
>And all I've done for want of wit<br>To memory now I can't recall  
>So fill to me the parting glass<br>Good night and joy be with you all

Oh all the comrades that e'er I've had  
>Are sorry for my going away<br>And all the sweethearts that e'er I've had  
>Would wish me one more day to stay<br>But since it falls unto my lot  
>That I should rise and you should not<br>I'll gently rise and I'll softly call  
>Good night and joy be with you all."<p>

- The Wailin' Jennys- The Parting Glass

Before you yell at me, THIS IS NOT THE END. It may seem that I went with the original ending, but just wait and see. One more chapter planned...possibly a two-part.


	39. New Days

New Days

Fourteen years ago, King Galbatorix the Tyrant had been defeated and replaced by the good Queen Nasuada. Fourteen years ago, Surda's lands had been expanded into part of Alagaesia as thanks for their helping the Varden. Fourteen years ago, Queen Islanzadi had been defeated in battle, sending the elves into a month of deciding who would be her replacement. Fourteen years ago, Lenora had sacrificed herself and disappeared from the living world, becoming nothing more than a revered legend. Fourteen years ago, Murtagh and his dragon Thorn had gone into exile, only seen occasionally by farmers and travelers. Fourteen years ago, Ivanyel had confessed her guilt of cursing her daughter and served her penance for it by doing what she could to remedy that fact.

Thirteen years ago, the Rider Eragon Shadeslayer and his dragon Saphira had flown off into the distance, the only evidence of their existence being a few dragon eggs and trained Dragon Riders appearing back in the known world. Thirteen years ago, hope had been rekindled for the common folk when Ayra had revealed herself as the new Rider of a green dragon named Firnen. Thirteen years ago, Eedom and Catira were wed, along with Ajihad and Rowena around that time. Nasuada too had found love in a young noble from Surda apparently related to King Orrin and married him soon after, securing ties with their neighboring country and the happiness of the queen.

Other than a few appearances from people who had sincerely been loyal to Galbatorix, things were quite stable. It took a while to recover from Galbatorix's unstable economy and the destruction of war, but it happened. All hurts were being healed.

The elves had been quite forgiving after the war. Their grief over Islanzadi's death in the final battle had driven them to wreak havoc upon their enemies. Once that was over, however, and they had mourned for their loss, they were back to logic and calmness. Picking a new queen had been certainly interesting, especially when Firnen hatched for Arya and Ivanyel found out about her feelings for Eragon. That was an interesting conversation. Arya obviously hadn't been used to losing arguments about her own feelings.

Ivanyel smiled at the memory.

She didn't know how it happened, really. They shouldn't have trusted the judgement of the dead king's wife, but she supposed they saw into her heart and saw that she had changed and learned from her mistakes. She knew from the moment her sister died and her choice became clear that her True Name had changed - her priorities had changed. She still wanted to kill Galbatorix, but, deep down, she ultimately wanted to protect her daughter and eliminate the threat, not only for herself and her child, but also for the whole country.

It wouldn't have done the elves any good for leadership or their reputation with any of the other people, especially humans, who had decided to try limiting the use of magic. It wouldn't do. Dragons and their Riders lived for magic. They couldn't have their potential stifled by politics. A Dragon Rider could not be queen.

She had argued her case with the elves, not that she wanted it. She didn't ask for this result. She had redeemed herself almost instantly, thanks to the elves' anger with the king. It wasn't hard to get, but, for at least ten years, it was hard to keep. Some weren't so convinced of her contrition, but they were convinced by the end. The dwarves had had their troubles too, but not on such a grand scale. At the moment, things were quite peaceful.

There were six Dragon Riders residing in Alagaesia: 1 Urgal, 2 dwarves, 1 human, and 2 elves. The rest were either with Eragon or, in the case of Murtagh, wandering exiles. Right then, however, there were extra Dragon Riders here in Ellesmera. And, speaking of them…

"Ivanyel Dröttning?" a familiar voice asked.

"Arya!" Ivanyel greeted warmly, rising from her bench to embrace her niece and continuing to address her in the Ancient Language. "_How are you? Was your journey difficult?_"

"_It was bearable. I brought a couple of visitors this time…and Brom has a surprise for you._"

Instantly, a boy of about twelve appeared in the doorway, the _gedwey ignasia _plain on his palm as he bowed before Ivanyel. He was several inches taller than her waist and was fairly skinny with light skin, brown eyes, black hair, and pointed ears. Though he still had a boyish appearance, it was apparent that he would grow into a fine-looking young man.

"_Brom Eragonsson,_" the queen greeted with a smile. "_When did this happen?"_

The boy grinned toothily.

"_Two months ago. She's a deep purple with black claws and she's beautiful!"_

"_I'm sure you're father is proud. Arya, I'm sorry you're never able to convince Eragon to return. I see you every year, but never him."_

Arya smirked knowingly, nodding towards the doorway.

"_That has changed."_

Just then, the final arrival entered. After fourteen years, Eragon looked more like an elf than ever. The traits of a Rider had prevented him from physically aging like a normal human, but he still looked more mature. He had spent fourteen years in a strange land making a home for and training new Dragon Riders. As far as Ivanyel knew, this was his first time returning to Alagaesia. The reason Arya had had such difficulty in convincing to come was because the witch Angela had predicted that he would never return. Whatever that was about, the circumstances had changed and he was here now. He watched the movements of his homeland, but he still wanted to see it for himself.

After greeting the queen, he asked,

"_Have you heard anything about Murtagh or Lenora?"_

Brom started wall-staring. He came once before with his mother and, in that trip alone, had gotten sick of the two elves talking about the woman he had never seen. Eragon had been told of Nora's continued existence about ten years previously. He certainly hadn't been happy about being kept in the dark.

Ivanyel shrugged slightly.

"_I have heard rumors of the Red Rider appearing occasionally in various locations, as well as sightings of a woman accompanied by wolves, but I am unable to actually see them. I placed enchantments upon Lenora when she left to prevent her from being scryed and Murtagh apparently put similar wards around himself. So, to answer your question, yes and no. I have heard rumors, but I have not seen actual proof of their existence."_

Eragon nodded his head.

"_Perhaps I will try looking for them during my time here. How are things here?"_

* * *

><p>"Eva, you look like a moonstruck cow."<p>

The dark-haired girl gaped, dropping the herbs she was setting to dry.

"I do not!"

"Yes, you do, dear."

The twenty-one-year-old pouted.

"Well…the woman who raised me is an elf, so I thought I would have picked up on that whole hiding emotion thing."

Catira laughed, tossing her magically sliced carrots into a pot on the stove.

"But your father has the subtlety of a five-year-old and your mother isn't exactly the poster child for being emotionless. Tell me what it is."

"She's met a boy," Angela observed, walking into the kitchen without knocking. The witch's visits from Ilirea were common for their cabin in the country.

"Is that so?" Cat queried with a grin.

"My assistant is the son of a minor noble. Solembum took a liking to him the second he walked through my door two years ago. Every time Eva here visits me, she and Karl disappear for hours."

"Is that so?" the elf reemphasized, smiling even bigger when Eva's beautiful face turned a bright pink. "If I wasn't so busy with other affairs in Ilirea, I would have met this boy, then."

"I have to go get more roots," the girl muttered, rushing out.

"What was that about?" Eedom chuckled, entering the second his adopted daughter left. "Eva's in a big hurry. Hello, Angela."

"We might be losing a daughter soon, sweetie," said his mate. "You haven't been keeping a very close eye on her when you go to the city."

"What do you mean?"

"I here she's been sneaking off with Angela's assistant."

"Karl? So?"

Catira did a face-palm.

"Eedom, how could you have survived for years alone in the desert and still be so clueless?"

The man shrugged carelessly.

"I…have no clue. By the way, I noticed the woodshed is full. Did you…?"

"I spent the day singing trees for winter firewood. What were you up to?"

"I've noticing more wolves than usual in the area and was trying to find their source. No luck."

"Maybe Nora's back in the area. We haven't seen hide nor hair of her in fourteen years. I really do miss that girl."

* * *

><p>Eedom shook his head as the women continued to chat and he turned to go back outside. Time had treated the former Imperial soldier fairly well. His hazel eyes still had a youthful mischievousness about them when he pretended to be clueless about something the women were gossiping about, not that Cat gossiped much. He was nearly forty, but he still felt young, thanks to the elvish blood running through his veins. The only concerns he had of getting older were that his daughter would eventually leave him to start her own family and his wife would remain youthful even when he was an old man. Even though his heritage prevented him from aging as fast as a normal human, he would still die long before his mate. He knew not to bring the subject up with Catira, who would growl that she knew that she would outlive him and preferred to live in the moment.<p>

He discovered his adopted daughter on a log by the creek that ran by their home, focused on creating a small wood carving.

"Eva, are you all right?"

The girl glanced up for a moment.

"Papa, do you think the wolves will come around here?"

"No, dear. And, if they do, they won't bother us. I've seen these wolves before." He allowed silence for a moment. "You know, we should let your mother meet Karl. She won't like it when she finds out that I already knew him as Angela's assistant before he started courting you. I'm sure she would love to hear all about your prospective husband."

"Yeah," she responded noncommittally.

"Are you afraid that he'll be intimidated by your mother being an elf?"

"…maybe."

He took hold of his daughter's hand, stopping the wood-carving.

"Trust me. You'll be fine. She wants to hear about these things. I'm sure he'll make you very happy."

"But, Papa, I'll still have so much to learn about life and magic and…" She stopped.

"Eva, marriage is a career of learning."

* * *

><p>"Mercy, where are those ales? They were ordered more than five minutes ago. We have a reputation to uphold!"<p>

"Sorry, Rowena!" the maid squeaked, racing back into the kitchen as if devils were at her heels.

The plump innkeeper huffed as she walked around to survey the rest of the crowded common room. It was just after nightfall, when folk of all walks of life were returning from their place of work or pausing in their travels and needed a drink and a hearty meal. Rowena's inn was one of several lodges near the heart of the capitol, Ilirea, so it had excellent business, most of the time. To her twelve employees, Rowena was a tyrant but a fair boss; to her customers, she was the matronly angel from heaven. She and her husband had never had any children during their union. They were both in their older years and, for Rowena, being the stepmother of the queen of Alagaesia was enough.

The woman quite lost her breath as, when she was passing the door to her residence section of the building, an arm reached around her waist and swept her into the quaint parlor of her home.

"How's the lady of the house?" a deep rumbling voice whispered into her ear. Rowena smiled and turned to kiss her husband. There were small wrinkles at the corners of his eyes and his black hair was taking on a silver sheen. Following his daughter's ascension to the throne, Ajihad had quickly become one of her closest advisers. After Rowena started her inn, their dreams of living in the country disappeared completely.

"Busy, as always. How is court life?"

"Good. Nasuada's having child troubles."

"How so?"

"Oh, her daughter 'disappeared' again. I think the news of that rogue magician spooked her to the point of insisting that Nora stay inside the palace walls at all times. The girl is too much like her namesake to be controlled completely. Her father isn't nearly as concerned. She can take care herself."

Rowena shook her head.

"She insists that Nora isn't named after the princess Lenora, but it's so obvious…Nasuada was guilty and Lenora is dead. The child has no clue the importance of her name. Something happened during the days previous to Galbatorix's defeat that made your daughter feel that she owed something to Lenora...like she needed some sort of redemption. Remember how disappointed she was when she couldn't have a proper funeral for her because it was already taken care of?"

"It will be resolved eventually. I heard that Arya is conducting her yearly visit and is coming here after visiting Queen Ivanyel." A mischievous look entered his eyes. "I also heard that Nasuada is expecting two additional visitors with Arya."

Rowena gasped.

"Her son and...could it be Eragon? I thought he was never planning to return!"

"I think he may have changed his mind."

* * *

><p>"Aren't you concerned, Tarin? Our daughter is missing and you're just…sitting there!"<p>

Walking over to join her at the fireplace, the queen's husband put his arms around her shoulders and said,

"She'll be all right, Nasuada. She always is. She's just out for a ride with her horse."

"I wouldn't be concerned if it was just that," Nasuada snapped. "It's after dark, though, and that magician has already killed five people on the countryside in the past week."

"If she's not back in an hour, we'll send out riders to look for her. And there are people tracking down the magician. He's the last that we know of that was truly loyal to Galbatorix, so we hopefully won't have to worry about it after this."

Nasuada sighed. She wasn't usually this uptight, but she was genuinely worried for her daughter.

"Thank you for being here. You know I can't open up around most people nowadays."

"Always."


	40. Lost Then Found

Lost Then Found

"**Garmdautr!"**

The cloaked lady with a veil across the lower half of her face looked up from washing her hands in the small stream that cut through the plain. She couldn't see the wolves, but she could sense them less than a mile away in the nearby hills.

"**What's the matter, Gaho?"**

"**There is a human girl being attacked by a fire-bird. We are distracting it, but it won't last forever. We need your help."**

"**Fire-bird?"**

Shrugging, the dark-haired woman raised her hood, secured her sword, and trotted towards the hills.

It didn't take her very long to catch sight of the scene. Near the peak of one of the rolling hills was a young girl on a grey horse that was constantly being spooked by what looked like a giant menacing bird of fire. The circling wolves seemed to be distracting the creature just enough to keep it from turning its full attention to the child and her uncontrollable steed.

"**Hurry!" **urged Gaho.

Pulling out her hand-and-a-half sword, the rescuer rushed onto the scene and struck at the terrifying torch, which she now realized was at least six feet in length and nearly twice that in width. Upon being grazed by the silvery blade, the creature turned its black eyes on its attacker and lunged forward. The woman warrior jumped out of the way just in time; however, her cloak was not fast enough in following and she was forced to discard it to avoid becoming a human fireball. Black hair flying wildly, she stood tall and readied herself as the beast came around for another pass.

The girl felt fairly confident that it was beatable. Despite its seemingly liquid quality, a constant flow of burning, red droplets from the fire-bird's underside indicated that the wolves had actually succeeded in maiming it.

The fire-bird turned midair about thirty feet away and charged through the air with a piercing, animalistic shriek, trailing angry sparks of gold that lit of the night sky with their brightness.

* * *

><p>The huge, majestic red dragon soared over the plains and mountains that made up this part of Alagaesia's landscape, diving under a cloud to get a better view of what was below in the night.<p>

The Rider had tanned skin, intense dark eyes, strong features, and almost black hair with bangs that framed his face. Nearly fifteen years of being a Rider had made his features somewhat elvish. His ears weren't quite as pointed as an elf's, but they were close.

"**Murtagh, do you see those wolves?"**

The man looked down with keen eyes.

"**They're swarming onto that hill. I wonder why."**

"**Probably just hunting prey."**

"**This is different. I sense magic. And look at the flames! Wouldn't these animals normally be running **_**away**_** from a fire, not towards it?"**

"**Time to investigate?"**

"**Aye."**

Growling an affirmative, Thorn slowly began circling downwards, allowed Murtagh to study the scene in the distance before diving into whatever was going on.

* * *

><p>The dark-haired woman bent down and offered a hand to the cowering girl, whose horse had dumped her several moments before. The fire-bird had been vanquished with a well-placed stab to what was apparently the abdomen. Despite the fiery blood it had produced, the thing had simply vanished upon acquiring the mortal wound.<p>

She almost jumped when the child looked up; her facial structure, black hair, dark skin, and striking eyes reminded her very much of Nasuada, the apparent queen.

"It's all right. I won't hurt you. The creature is gone."

The girl looked up with dignified resentment.

"I know it's gone. I just… My nerves needed to calm."

"No need to get snappy.

"Sorry." The girl allowed her rescuer to help her stand and brushed off her dusty clothes. "I'm Nora, daughter of Queen Nasuada."

The stranger crossed her arms, amused.

"So Nasuada is queen after all and it's not just a rumor."

"My mother has been queen since before I was born," the young Nora stated quite haughtily. "Everyone knows that. Who are you, anyway?"

The masked stranger smiled.

"Just a friend."

"But how can I properly thank you? If you hadn't shown up…" She shivered. "Can't I know your name, lady?"

"Perhaps the next time we meet, Princess. Just tell your mother that Wolfdaughter says hello and _you _stay out of trouble."

"But who…" Nora cut off with a gasp and pointed behind Wolfdaughter, who turned to find a tall, bald man walking up the hill towards them.

Grabbing Nora's wrist, the woman tossed her easily onto the horse and slapped its hindquarters, saying,

"Hurry home and don't look back."

The wanderer turned back to face the now-paused newcomer, who was now casually passing small strings of electricity from one finger to another with a gleeful grin. A magician.

"Wolfdaughter? The diminished daughter of King Galbatorix who betrayed her father and went into exile? I've heard stories of the woman traveling with wolves and saving poor innocent souls, but I never had the pleasure. Your meddling days are over, weakling."

Lenora brandished her sword with a grim smirk. No, she couldn't use magic to fight this man and she was secretly terrified, but she couldn't run either. The magician, obviously wanting to toy with her for a while, drew his own sword.

* * *

><p>Thorn landed cautiously just out of sight of the action that had been occurring. Just as they had gotten close enough to really see what was going on, the fire had simply been extinguished, yet the sound of battle still endured.<p>

Dropping down from his saddle and drawing Zar'roc, Murtagh began to walk towards the sounds, only to freeze when a young girl of about twelve sprinted into sight on a grey mare. The child didn't even flinch at the sight of a dragon.

"I don't recognize you," she said, "but you can help! There's a woman over the hill. She saved me, but there's an evil magician and…please, you have to help!"

Shaking himself out of thinking that the girl reminded him of an old friend, the Rider ordered her to stay with Thorn and trotted up the hill.

Explosions accompanied by flashes of blue light interrupted the sound of clinking metal more and more frequently. A short squeak of alarm was followed by the sounds of physical combat completely ceasing; however, the explosions continued.

Upon reaching the hilltop, Murtagh finally caught sight of the scene. The explosions were coming from a tall, bald, pale man in a billowing black cloak who sported a gleeful grin. His sword was carelessly cast aside on the ground. His victim was a woman with long black hair who was impressively avoiding the shots by anticipating where they would land and rolling or jumping to avoid them. She didn't retaliate in kind, so it was apparent that she was not a magic-user. The eyes above her veil showed a mixture of focus and panic. He vaguely noticed that the star pendant around his neck was tingling.

Just as Murtagh quickened his pace to reach the conflict, the woman made a slip and was thrown backwards by one of the blasts of energy. With a cry, the Rider rushed up behind the magician and sent him flying through the air. Before the enemy could recover from his surprise, he attacked his mind and sent the man's own sword hurtling towards his heart. The magician tried to reach for a counterattack, but Murtagh was too fast. Before another minute was over, he was dead. He was no match for the exiled Rider.

Barely winded, the victor looked back to where he seen the woman land. She was still there, on her hands and knees with her back to him in the process of getting up. Even once she was standing, she was favoring her left side and wrapping her right arm around her ribs. Murtagh promptly walked behind her and, without asking, reached out and quickly healed her wounds with a few muttered words. The lady jumped around to stare at him silently with wide, familiar eyes. Her face was veiled by grey fabric and she wore fitted pants of soft brown leather and a sleeveless, one-shoulder shirt of soft deer skin.

With brow furrowed, he turned her back around to look at the uncovered shoulder. On it was a deeply-imbedded scar that read _Wyrda_. Instantly, he swiveled her back around and snatched the veil away.

"Nora."

Lenora smiled weakly, brushing the curly hair out of her face.

"Hello, Murtagh."

His jaw tensed.

"You're supposed to be dead."

"How is Nasuada?"

Suddenly confused, Murtagh did a double-take.

"How should I know?"

"Didn't you come out here to save your daughter?"

"What daughter? I don't have a daughter!"

Her eyebrows came together and both of them began raising their voices.

"What do you mean?"

"You mean that girl waiting with Thorn? I've never met her before." He gestured wildly at the wolves that were beginning to surround the duo. "I just was trying to figure out what these wolves were doing."

"But didn't you marry Nasuada?"

"No! That's Nasuada's daughter? Thorn and I have been wandering for years; we just happened to be in the area."

Awkwardly glancing to the side, Nora obviously didn't know how to continue. She looked a little older since he had last seen her all those years ago in Uru'baen. Her hair was longer and wilder, she was more muscular, and she had several new scars, including a nasty one across her right cheek.

All of a sudden, she whipped around and landed a resounding, grinding punch on his jaw. He was too shocked to react.

"I did all of that for you and you've just been...wandering around this whole time?!"

"I didn't ask you to leave," he grumbled, massaging his jaw. "I was devastated when I found out you were _dead_. What happened to you? And why weren't you defending yourself against that magician?"

She delayed by going to fetch her discarded sword, formerly Murtagh's, and replace it in the scabbard on her back.

"My mother followed my request by telling everyone that I was dead. I've been wandering with the wolves ever since."

"The magician?"

She refused to look him in the eye.

"Because of what my father did, I can no longer use magic. He messed with me in other ways too, mentally and physically."

Murtagh stood silently for a moment, unable to fully realize that Nora was actually standing in front of him. His eyes were still narrow with disbelief.

"Why did you do it?"

"My spirit was broken and Nasuada was there for you. She loved you."

"I loved _you_," he growled darkly. "I may have been a mindless, indecisive idiot for a while, but it was always you. You were my best friend and the best lover I could ever want. You were the only one who ever really understood me. It was always you."

"Then why did you leave me?"

"You left!"

"When you were Galbatorix's slave, I willingly went back into the horror house to save you. I did _everything _for you! You left me to my torment! I heard you talking to Nasuada and I know that you had feelings for each other. I know she was the one to save you, not me. It was always my fate to face Galbatorix, so I resigned myself to it. I faced the consequences and left Alagaesia to continue its path without me. It was for the best."

"Nonsense. I have been in exile and Nasuada has moved on with her life. There was always you."

"It's just a memory, Murtagh. I'm not the same. It's for the…"

"No!"

Sick of hearing this, Murtagh grabbed Nora roughly by the shoulders and kissed her, not letting their lips part until after she finally reciprocated.

Gasping when her finally pulled away, the woman seemed speechless.

"Murtagh…"

"I don't know how I could have ever been so stupid as to make you doubt my love for you, Nora, but fourteen years have given me a lot of time to think. I can't love anyone else."

Lenora stood in his arms with her mouth slightly ajar.

"I don't… All this time and we were just wandering…alone."

"**Murtagh, the child is falling asleep in my saddle," **Thorn suddenly stated. **"We should return her to her mother."**

Broken out of his trance, the Rider addressed Nora more calmly.

"Thorn says we need to get the girl back to Nasuada." Nora nodded and stepped away. "Will you come with me?"

"Most everyone thinks I'm dead."

"It will be a pleasant surprise."

"Then what?"

"What do you mean?" Murtagh queried, confused again.

"What happens to us?"

A smile appeared on his face.

"We renew some friendships, rejoin the world, get married, and have a few kids."

"We can't have the last one," said Nora sadly, pulling away once last time and hugging herself protectively. "…one of the physical effects of my father's spell. He stole my future and now I'm alone."

After a moment, Murtagh reached his hand out to her.

"We don't have to be alone anymore. We have each other."

"Murtagh, I can't remember half of our memories together."

"We can make new ones."

Lenora looked down at his offered hand and slowly took it. Together, they walked down to where Thorn was waiting, ready to fly to the capitol.

* * *

><p>"Have you found my daughter yet, Jormundur?"<p>

"No, but someone else did. I think you'll be pleased."

Gasping, Queen Nasuada turned around and was instantly greeted the tight embrace of her child.

"Nora, what have I told you about going out there alone when there are dangerous men wandering about? You could have been killed!"

"I almost was, Mother," the girl stated, only slightly put down by the admonition, "but they saved me."

Nasuada looked up at the rugged couple standing in the well-lit doorway as her husband protectively put his hands on his daughter's shoulders and stood beside her.

"Murtagh…and Nora! How did you…? I expect answers."

"Don't worry, Nasuada," Lenora said with an encouraging smile. "Most people thought I was dead. We can't stay long. I want to visit my mother, who is apparently in Ellesmera. You'll get your answers eventually."

"But you're back."

The former princess looked lovingly up at the man at her side, who responded simply by taking her hand.

"Yeah. I'm back."

Before the queen could say another word, Lenora led Murtagh down the hall and out of sight. Nasuada, still in shock, ran to doorway to watch them go just in time to see the Rider put his arm over the former princess's shoulders.

"Well," Tarin began with a mysterious grin, "I thought you said those two were long gone legends. It seems that the world wasn't ready to give them up."

The End.

Happy Easter! I hope you enjoyed this tale. I'll leave anything else that may follow this to the imagination. This story has been fun to write and I hope it has been just as fun to read. It's been a long road. My next story will be based on the Stargate SG1/Atlantis series. Keep an eye out for it!

May you always find water and shade, may your swords stay sharp, and may the Force be with you.

Musically yours and much love,

formerAnnie


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